


o, what an eerie tale to tell

by doitsushine92



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Circus, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Gen, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Kidnapping, Mystery, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Supernatural Elements, Temporary Amnesia, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:55:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 112,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27394585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitsushine92/pseuds/doitsushine92
Summary: On June 19th last year, a storm passed through our small town, leaving behind severe damages to our buildings and homes. Many businesses went out of order due to fires, crumblings, and floods that affected their shops. Nearly a hundred people lost their homes under the same circumstances, along with their cars and other personal belongings. The true loss, however, is that of five youths who went missing during the storm: Huang Renjun, Lee Jeno, Lee Donghyuck, Na Jaemin, and Liu Yangyang. Now, we commemorate their lives through a special ceremony to be held at the Town Square on June 19th, on the anniversary of the tragic event.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 163
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> prompt code #00125
> 
> hello, welcome to this monster of a fic!
> 
> please, i am begging you to **heed the warnings** which, in addition to the ones listed on the work's tags, will be featured at the beginning of each chapter. this is an admittedly dark fic, and it will feature heavy topics such as murder, torture, among others.
> 
> i did, however, make sure to interject it with some good old fluff, found family and humour, as is my brand
> 
> gigantic shout-out to my beta for being the coolest!!! i wouldn't have done this without you, thank you for encouraging me and for making this disaster a readable disaster!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter include: **mentions of past child abuse, temporary loss of vision, blood and injuries, fractures, vomit, and mentions of past character and pet death**

_June 18th, 2020, extract from a local newspaper written by veteran reporter Lee Jinki._

**Memorial to be held for the missing children.**

_On June 19th last year, a storm passed through our small town, leaving behind severe damages to our buildings and homes. Many businesses went out of order due to fires, crumblings, and floods that affected their shops. Nearly a hundred people lost their homes under the same circumstances, along with their cars and other personal belongings. The true loss, however, is that of five youths who went missing during the storm: Huang Renjun, Lee Jeno, Lee Donghyuck, Na Jaemin, and Liu Yangyang. Now, we commemorate their lives through a special ceremony to be held at the Town Square on June 19th, on the anniversary of the tragic event._

_As we remember, the Neo Circus came to our town the week of the storm and left hours before the rain began. Now, they come visit us once more and offer their services for free, as a way to show their support and to relieve some of the pain our town feels._

_The memorial will include speeches from the parents of the missing boys. Lee Jeno, as he was an orphan, will be represented by the foster family that had been taking care of him at the time of his disappearance. Liu Yangyang's parents won't be available for the memorial, either, so Mrs. Huang decided to step in, saying, "I knew Yangyang from our shop. He always came by on Sundays. I used to give him freebies whenever he stopped by […] he was so dreadfully thin."_

_Na Jaemin's parents, for those of you who don't know, financed most of the search for six months, using their own resources to look for the teens long after the authorities deemed their case a recovery mission. After the children were declared legally dead, they paid for the funeral arrangements of Lee Jeno and Liu Yangyang, seeing as there wasn't anyone who would._

_The missing children: Huang Renjun was set to go to a prestigious university under a music scholarship, and Lee Donghyuck was known by many from his numerous participations in local plays. Lee Jeno, in the foster system since his eleventh birthday, had several run-ins with the police. Liu Yangyang, as was discovered after his disappearance, lived in an abusive home, and his parents are now in prison, and Na Jaemin, the son of a wealthy couple, was only in town for summer break from his boarding school._

_If you are interested in joining the memorial, or have any tributes you would like to make, the Town Square will open its doors at nine o'clock in the morning to the public, with the main event and speeches taking place starting at noon. At seven of the evening, the hour at which the storm began, the mourners will release floating candles to honour their souls._

* * *

The first thing to come to Jeno's attention when he wakes up is that he cannot see a thing. 

Well, no, not exactly. He hasn't gone blind, per se. Jeno can see vague shapes, and colours, and shadows. He just can't see the things that are in front of him.

He blinks, then blinks again, to no avail. The world around him remains fuzzy, out of focus, and the harder he tries to look, the less he sees. Already he feels a headache start behind his eyes, a pressure that has him shutting them closed with a pained grimace. Jeno rubs his eyes with his fingers, hoping to gain back his vision, and only succeeds in making black spots dance in front of his eyes. He blinks several times again until they disappear.

_Where is he?_ Jeno squints at his surroundings, but he can't make out anything more significant than green and brown, with splotches of light here and there. If he tries hard enough, he can vaguely spy solid shapes in the distance, too far away to be recognisable. 

As he pushes himself to his knees, Jeno pats the ground and discovers it's — _dirt?_ He grabs a handful of it and it crumbles in his hold, slipping through the gaps in his fingers. Jeno repeats the motion time and time again, the action grounding in its monotony.

He can smell mud. It reminds Jeno of — of hiking? With others, yes, and there was dirt and it was hot, too. It was hot then, and it's hot now, sweat accumulating on his brow and neck. Even his shirt is clinging to his back, and his hair, long and shabby, is plastered to his forehead.

Jeno's hands come across sticks, fallen leaves, and more dirt as he explores the ground around him, and he safely concludes he's in some sort of forest. Or maybe a park? He can't hear anyone, though. The only sounds are that of nature — the rustle of the trees, birds chirping, a lone bee or a wasp buzzing somewhere to his right — so it can't be a park. As far as his mind can go, parks are supposed to be loud, lively. This… this isn't it. 

Jeno stands on shaky legs. He's barefoot, which only adds to his confusion. He can feel everything under his feet as he stumbles, from the smallest rock to the slipperiest slope. He knows he has to be careful as he moves, he knows he should probably wait for his vision to return, but he's admittedly too scared to stay put.

Jeno takes one wrong step and he careens forward, barely stopping his fall by holding onto a large tree at his side. He scrapes his hands on the bark and he curses loudly, feeling the splinters dig into his skin. Dark blood seeps from the cuts. Jeno feels his hands go numb from shock, then the feeling returns and he hisses, more surprised than hurt. It isn't as if the cuts hurt, exactly.

Even though he can't see clearly, Jeno can tell it's darkening. The shadows become longer with every passing second, and he realises that he needs to move quickly if he doesn't want to be stuck here all night. Especially without his glasses — _does he need glasses? Is that why he can't see anything? God, what's happening?_ — and with the possibility of a large animal roaming around. The forest is quiet for the most part, but Jeno isn't a fool. 

He takes a second look at his surroundings. Beyond the treeline are what Jeno thinks are mountain tops. He can see their curves and dips, shady as they are against the backdrop of the setting sun. Below his feet lies a bed of roses, their petals stark red.

Jeno whips his head to the side. Call him crazy, but Jeno is certain he just heard a twig snap. His rational brain tries to tell him that the sound came from afar, while his instincts scream at him to start moving. Even if the twig was far away, whatever stepped on it sounds huge. Jeno doesn't want to stick around to find out what — _or who_ — it might be.

Jeno shakes his head to clear his thoughts and forces himself to focus. The more he stands here, frozen at the possibilities his mind conjures, the more in danger he puts himself. With a cursory glance around him, he thinks he spots a trail to the west.

Should he take the chance? It could be nothing. It could be a dead end. It could lead him to a road. It could lead him to help.

Jeno squares his shoulders, takes a deep breath, and walks toward the trail.

* * *

_Recording from a special report done by a regional TV channel on the mysterious disappearances of five teenagers, hosted by popular anchor Jung Eunji._

**_What happened to the five missing teens from Vrais?_ **

_In a dimly lit studio, a woman in her late twenties, makeup intact and hair artificially curled, sits on a velvet seat and offers the sole camera a polite greeting. Square glasses rest on the elegant slope of her nose. Her neck is adorned with a pearl necklace, the lack of shine betraying it's falsehood. Her green suit matches her complexion._

_The woman, Jung Eunji, former news anchor and current late-late-night show host, says, "Welcome to tonight's episode of The Uncovered. On June 19th of this year, a storm destroyed half of a rural town. In the midst, five teenagers from the area vanished in thin air. Searches came up fruitless, and even six months later, the police have no leads."_

_A pause for dramatic effect. Pictures of the five teenagers are shown on screen. Their names are displayed beneath each photograph. Three are school pictures, the boys' uniforms in pristine conditions for the event, friendly smiles on their faces. The other two are casual photos taken on the streets, both boys frowning at the camera as if it personally offended them._

_"Since their disappearances, the police, as well as the media, have discussed several theories that could explain what happened on that night." Jung Eunji pauses once more. Her eyes drift to the teleprompter momentarily before they return to the camera. Her voice is even as she continues. "Rumours of kidnapping and murder have hounded the story for weeks. Others believed the teens had run away together, even though no evidence suggests they knew each other and there are no links tying them together prior to their disappearances."_

_The screen turns black, followed by a red interrogation mark. A series of mugshots, black and white photographs, newspapers, and documents flit across the screen in rapid succession._

_Jung Eunji's voice plays over the montage. It is sombre, serious, and only shakes ever so slightly as she speaks. "Join us as we explore the mysterious case of the Vrais teenagers on tonight's Christmas special, with appearances by acquaintances of the families and expert interviews."_

* * *

Waves lap at Yangyang's feet. The water is cold, the temperatures dropping in spite of being midsummer. The sun can't do anything to stave off the cool summer nights other than hang on as long as possible in the sky.

Perhaps that's what rouses him from his sleep: the constant ebb of the ocean that reaches his body, the water cool on his skin. Or, perhaps, it’s the impending sense of danger that weighs in his stomach before consciousness truly sets in. It swims through his veins, over his heart, and finally settles in his throat.

Yangyang sits up with a gasp. A sharp stab of pain shoots up the right side of his torso at the action and he nearly cries out, muffling himself with his fist at the last second. Carefully, he lifts his shirt — torn and tattered, it appears more fitting as a cleaning rag than a clothing item — and looks down. In the space between two ribs is a deep gash, still bleeding.

"What the hell?" Yangyang murmurs to himself. He reaches out to touch the wound and retracts his hand almost immediately, seeing that his hands are dirty as well. He doesn't want to risk infecting his injury. Yangyang casts another look and examines the wound: what he initially thought was one cut is actually three, and they appear to be claw marks. A wild animal, maybe? Yangyang doesn't know. He lets his shirt fall from his grasp, concealing the wound from his sight.

Yangyang casts a look at his surroundings and tries to take stock of his situation:

The beach is empty. He can see signs of people having been here before — a beach chair left abandoned, the remains of a bonfire, a forgotten doll washed ashore. Yangyang wonders briefly if anyone saw him lying on the sand, discarding the idea quickly. Who would see someone lie unconscious at the beach and simply walk away?

Close to his left is a large pier, its wooden planks rotting from corrosion, stained with bird feces and years of transit. Boats line the shore, small fishing ships tied to the structure with tightly knotted ropes, the paint on their surfaces chipping away on most of them. Only a few appear new, shiny and expensive, but even those show the telltale signs of harsh labor. A few rocks jut out of the water underneath the pier, covered in seaweed.

Salty wind whips against Yangyang's face. The sand around him is full of seashells and trash, tiny plastic wrappers clear against the golden surface. As far as he can see, dead jellyfish lie near the shore. Toward the far right is a cliff, its jagged rock clearly dangerous from Yangyang's point of view. They look as if one false move could cut Yangyang's jugular. The sun, bright orange, had started its descent a while ago and is now barely visible beyond the horizon.

The air smells of sea salt, gasoline, and fish. It also smells like home, an incredibly foreign feeling in Yangyang's mind. He can't place the reason why but he feels calm while sitting here, the waves washing his feet and the wind tussling his hair. A memory sits on the tip of his tongue. 

That calm feeling disappears soon, replaced by a sense of anxiety that coils around his heart like a vice. Yangyang clutches his chest, as if that will stop his heartbeat from going haywire, and shuts his eyes.

He can't remember anything. He doesn't know where he is, either. He's dressed in clothes that have seen better days, probably fifteen, twenty years ago, and he has an injury that throbs with every breath he takes. 

Yangyang decides he can't stay here. The longer he sits on the sand, the darker it becomes. He can see a highway where the beach ends, and although he can't see a house anywhere, a highway means civilization. Civilization means help. Or at least he hopes so. He fights against the fear that's clogging up his mind and makes him want to stay curled up on the beach.

Having made up his mind, Yangyang stands up and brushes himself off. Heaps of sand fall from his hair and clothes, and as he shakes his head, he realises he doesn't feel any blood trickling out of him anymore. He supposes the wound won't be bleeding any longer and heaves a sigh of relief, turning on his heel and starting toward the pavement without bothering to check his injury.

* * *

_Interview with a survivor from the storm of June 19th in the town of Vrais_.

_In a small room, two men sit opposite of each other on velvety seats. One wears a corduroy suit, a briefcase resting at his feet, while the other is dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt. A lamp provides enough artificial light to illuminate the stance, while the sole window shows a darkened sky._

_"Good evening, sir, thank you for meeting me," says the reporter. A shiny tag pinned to the lapel of his suit jacket identifies him as Kim Youngjae. Everything about him, from his manners to his disposition, belie not only his young age but his inexperience at the job. Or, they would, if it weren't for the hungry look in his eyes, like the man in front of him is his one-way ticket to stardom._

_The man nods. It shows in the ashy complexion of his face and the sunken aspect of his eyes. Unlike the reporter, he appears to be here only out of coercion, or perhaps a need. It's anyone's guess what he might be getting out of this interview._

_"If you could identify yourself to the camera," the reporter prompts. The camera swivels minutely to focus on the other man better._

_The man clears his throat and says, "Right, of course, sorry about that. I'm Park Sungjae, I am 47 years old. I worked at the Vrais factory for almost thirty years."_

_"Until the storm?" The reporter asks. The man, Park Sungjae, sighs and nods, resigned to his fate of answering intrusive questions by this baby-faced vulture. "I need your verbal answer, Mr. Park."_

_"Yes," Park Sungjae more or less snaps. "Until the storm."_

_Kim Youngjae scratches something on his notepad. It's too quick for him to have written anything substantial, perhaps relying on the recording of the camera._

_"Can you tell me more about that?" Kim Youngjae asks._

_"I was getting home after work when the rain started," Park Sungjae narrates, resigned. "It must have been after five. It was a light drizzle, nothing to worry about, so I didn't think to hurry. My wife had asked me that morning to buy some things from the locals' market and I thought, now's a good time to get them._

_"I bought what she asked — onions, tea leaves, a jar of pickles, random things — and I was heading for the bus when the rain really started to come down..."_

* * *

He's on a grave.

Not _in_ one, _on_ one. He doesn't realise it, at first, with the poor light from the setting sun and his own haziness making everything ten times more confusing than it should be. It's only when he sits up that he recognises the engraved dates and the R. I. P. on the smooth stone.

Donghyuck stumbles off the plate and lands on his butt in his haste to get away. It's a harsh fall against the grass but he thinks anything is better than to be lying on someone else's _grave_.

Panting, Donghyuck casts a wild look around. He's in a cemetery, that much is obvious. As far as he can see are rows upon rows of gravestones, some adorned with flowers, most empty and abandoned. The grass is greener on the patch he's in, small wildflowers growing between the numerous stone slabs. Beyond that, at the bottom of what seems to be a hill, he sees a funeral home and a church. Both buildings appear empty, but well kept.

Donghyuck stands up. He pats off his clothes, particularly the back of his pants, and hums. He's dressed in a way he's certain he wouldn't have picked: black trousers ripped at the knees, not fashionably but from numerous falls, and a white shirt that has seen better days. His shoes are scuffed and torn, too, faux leather ripping everywhere.

His eyes travel to the gravestone again. Donghyuck screams at the sight of the name that's written exactly where he’d laid not a minute ago.

**_Here lies Lee Donghyuck._ **

**_Beloved son and friend._ **

**_June 6th 2000 -?_ **

Now is a terrible time to hyperventilate, Donghyuck tries to tell himself. Unfortunately, the fact that he's staring at his own grave is a little too much for him to handle.

Unprompted, Donghyuck keels over and vomits on the wildflowers. Nothing much comes up other than bile, but the nausea doesn't dissipate. Donghyuck keeps his hands and knees firmly on the ground until he's sure he won't be passing out and then crawls to another gravestone - not his.

This one reads _Lee Jeno_. For some reason Donghyuck can't pinpoint, the name is strangely familiar to him. Like his own, Lee Jeno's grave lacks a date of passing, and unlike his, it doesn't say anything about him being a beloved son or friend. It only reads, "Gone too soon." Donghyuck traces the name with his fingers, trying to recall if he knows anyone by that name, and is terrified to find that he doesn't remember knowing anyone.

He knows he should know his parents' names. Or the names of his friends. The name of a pet. The name of a goddamned hometown or country. He comes up empty-handed for all of the above.

Biting back tears of frustration, Donghyuck changes tracks with his thoughts. Why is he in a cemetery? Why is he dressed like this? Where was he and why is there a gravestone with his name?

Gathering all the strength he has left, Donghyuck stands up and looks at the graves near his. Three more boys in similar circumstances, all apparently born in the same year as him, and all missing an official date of death. The one for Na Jaemin has fresh flowers in a vase, dandelions, and the one for Huang Renjun sports a stuffed animal taped unceremoniously to the bottom. His own has a vase full of sunflowers. Lee Jeno's and Liu Yangyang's are empty.

A familiar sound catches his attention. Faintly, as if carried by the wind, he can hear a tinkling melody. Somehow, it unsettles him more than waking up to his own grave when he's clearly not six feet under. He feels goosebumps break across his skin the longer he listens to the music, something that sounds equally joyful and sinister, and he steps back in alarm.

Yet. Something else, something deep in the back of his head, urges him to follow the music. It's almost as if he knows, subconsciously, that the answers he needs lie next to the melody, like the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. 

Before he allows his feet to carry him in the direction of the music, he drops to one knee and takes half of the dandelions from Na Jaemin's vase and places them on Liu Yangyang's grave. Then, he takes half of the sunflowers in his vase and offers them to Lee Jeno's grave. 

Once satisfied, Donghyuck begins to descend the sloping hill toward the church.

* * *

_Rows of seats line the school hall. Some hundreds of students sit inside the auditorium with solemn expressions, many missing their uniforms after having lost them, along with their possessions, during the storm._

_The school principal, Kim Junmyeon, visibly sweats under the spotlight. It was seen as a miracle by many that their school managed to be one of the very few buildings untouched by the disaster. The days following the storm, it acted as a camp for the Red Cross, the halls full of injured citizens and the classrooms acting as temporary housing for those left homeless._

_Kim Junmyeon adjusts his tie briefly as he steps up to the podium. His hands shuffle a set of cards, most likely containing the speech he doesn’t know how to deliver._

_On the bleachers, Mark Suh sits further away from the crowd. His mother insisted he come to today's activities since, according to her, it would do him well to speak to others. Mark did his best to keep from calling bullshit on her logic. It isn't her fault, and he knows she's grieving as much as he is._

_Well, maybe not as much, but she's still grieving. The whole town is in mourning, although for different reasons. Most of them had the chance to pay their final tributes to their loved ones. Mark doesn't get to have that._

_"Good morning, everyone," their principal speaks into the microphone. The water from the storm had damaged some of the equipment and his voice comes out distorted through the speakers. Mark pulls his hoodie up and wishes he could go home. "Thank you very much for coming today. I know most of you would rather be home with your families."_

_Someone in the audience coughs. Mark rolls his eyes._

_Kim Junmyeon continues, "What our community is going through could not have been prevented, but it shouldn't have happened either way. We all lost someone dear to us," Mark thinks about their principal's dog that drowned in the storm and softens a little, "and it is in times like this that we must rely on each other._

_"Lee Donghyuck and Huang Renjun were irreplaceable to all of us," he continues, "and today we feel their losses. But we must remember them as the bright, young men they were, rather than for the way we lost them."_

_Whatever pity Mark had for their principal vanishes, as he remembers that this is the same man that had given Donghyuck detention for the dumbest reasons. The same man that wanted to cut the drama club's fundings and give it to the jocks. The same man who told Donghyuck to his face that theater won't do him any good in the real world. Mark can still see the way Donghyuck's eyes dulled at the words._

_Mark decides he doesn't care to hear any more from this speech. He stomps down the stairs and leaves the auditorium. Outside, the sun is shining brighter than it has in the past two weeks. Usually, Donghyuck would be dragging Mark to the beach, or the movies, or anywhere else, really._

_Today, however, Mark tightens his hoodie strings and goes home. Maybe his brother is done cleaning out what's left of their garage._

* * *

Jaemin wakes up in the mouth of a forest, bleeding from a wound in his temple and feeling like he's been thrown off a moving train. He gasps as he regains consciousness and feels the waves of pain pulse behind his closed eyes.

Nothing's broken, however, as far as he can tell. Jaemin flexes his fingers and wiggles his toes, just in case, and is glad to find he can do it without feeling any pain. The same can't be said about his head. He doesn't want to open his eyes, fearful it will only worsen the sensation.

He has to, eventually. Jaemin blinks carefully and notes that, while painful, he can handle the soft sunlight. He sits up slowly, careful not to move too quickly in case it makes him hurt worse, and takes a deep breath.

A rabbit skitters to his side and watches him. Jaemin looks back at the rabbit until the animal decides he's no longer interesting and goes on its path. Jaemin snorts, and immediately regrets it as it makes pain flare through his head.

After he's made sure he isn't in any immediate danger, Jaemin takes his time studying where he is. Not a hundred feet away, he can see a long dirt road, leading out to what appears to be a park. Jaemin thinks he can see benches and a water fountain in the distance.

Jaemin stands up and makes a full turn to ensure he isn't missing anything important. Farther inside the forest, the foliage thickens and it becomes nearly impossible to see anything beyond your nose. He's not going in that direction, that's for sure.

As he starts to walk toward the park, he hears faint music. The hairs on his arms stand up in alarm, but Jaemin brushes it off. He has other things to worry about to pay much attention to a song.

Or so he tells himself. The farther he gets from the forest, the louder the music becomes. Jaemin concludes it must come from some sort of celebration in the park, and doesn't want to think about it much. 

Then why does his mind keep going back to it?

He tries to focus on the track in front of him and more than once finds he's stopped moving altogether, listening to the melody. Other times, he realises he's swaying to the rhythm, or tapping his fingers against his thigh as he counts the beats.

If it were just that, he wouldn't mind. What scares the fuck out of him is that his fight or flight response has him ready to bolt as he grows closer to the park. 

It should've taken Jaemin maybe two minutes to reach the park. Instead, the sun has disappeared completely before he's out of the trees.

The area is completely empty. Jaemin looks up and down the road as he walks, keeping one eye on his path and the other on his surroundings, while his ears strain to hear anything other than that damn music.

There's nothing else. It seems like the world begins and ends with that song.

* * *

_Moon Taeil isn't a man of few words. You ask anyone that knows him and they will tell you this. Moon Taeil is an opinionated man, and he makes damn sure you know it._

_This is the first time in perhaps his whole life that he can't find the words he needs to express how he feels._

_He isn't too concerned about the diner, if he's honest. It's a sturdy construction, and most of the damage was superficial and has been taken care of already. He estimates he can be back on business within a week or two._

_He isn't worried about his home, either. He lives in an apartment on the top floor, and his biggest grievance is that the elevator is out of service, which means he has to walk up and down ten flights of stairs several times a day. That's a menial problem, unimportant in the grand scheme of things._

_Today, Moon Taeil attends five funerals. The whole town comes to serve their respects at the cemetery where the empty caskets will be buried. He stands at the back of the crowd and listens to the priest read from the Bible, hands in his pockets._

_The Na family paid for the event, as everyone knows. The Huangs provided the catering for the wake earlier in the day. The Lee family prepared a tribute in mass for next Sunday._

_Taeil squints his eyes under the harsh sunlight and pays his final wishes to the boys. He didn't know them personally, but owning the only diner in town means you know the faces of every teenager. He was used to seeing Huang Renjun tutor kids in a corner booth, sometimes at the same time Lee Donghyuck sat at the counter with Mark Suh and challenged him to stuff three donuts in his mouth at once._

_The caskets are lowered to the ground. Taeil murmurs a prayer and steps back, letting an elderly couple pass before following the mass down the hill._

* * *

Of all the things that could go wrong, it had to be this one. 

Renjun cradles his ankle as carefully as he can. He feels the bones grind together with every little movement, the pain so great he thinks he might pass out. He's still sitting cross-legged on the tracks, half of his attention on making sure there won't be any train coming his way.

He rips a piece of fabric from his shirt and uses it to bandage himself. Renjun doesn't know what he's doing, not entirely, but he's fairly certain this is what you're supposed to do. It's scary — he doesn't know how he knows that. 

While he tightens his makeshift bandage, Renjun thinks. He can't remember what led him to wake up in the middle of these train tracks, almost as if thrown there by an invisible force. He has a headache, probably from a fall, and his left ankle is out of commission. 

It's nearing dark, now. At first, when he woke up, he couldn't tell if it was early or late, but the elongating shadows solved that particular puzzle.

Other than the sounds of nature, Renjun can't hear much. He stands, brushes himself off, and ponders which way to walk. There's no hesitation in him about whether to move now or wait until morning. He thinks it is obvious he has to find help.

Renjun examines the tracks. He hopes they'll have the answer he's looking for, but all he finds is rusty iron and dead leaves. There's also blood, probably from a dead animal hit by a train, and he promptly decides to hop off the railroad and walk along the gravel instead.

The forest is loud in the evening air. A swarm of bees zooms in and out of a colony, a rabbit jumps out from a bush, and a lizard crawls across the tracks. The sky darkens further as Renjun walks. It feels like one moment he blinks and the world is suddenly pitch black around him.

Renjun stops to weigh his options. He could continue walking in the dark and hope he can find civilization, or he could stay here for the night. On one hand, to stay put seems like the safest choice: he can't see much in front of him, and he still has no idea where he is. But on the other hand, Renjun's skin crawls at the thought of staying where he is. 

A faint melody reaches him. It's strange, out of place, and that's precisely what makes Renjun hear it. He's grown accustomed to the noises of the animals to the point he barely registers them anymore, but this… this sounds different.

Renjun hears bells. He hears music that is melodic in an unusual, off-putting way. He hears remote laughter. He hears a giant music box that plays from deep in the forest.

It sounds like a carnival.


	2. PART 1: THE RETURN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: **nausea and vomit, injury, blood, stitches, panic attacks, mentions of past child abuse, implied abuse/torture, and bed wetting**

Moonlight illuminates their paths. 

As Jeno stumbles through the road, hands stretched out to stop him from colliding into anything he can't see, Donghyuck slides down the hill and nearly crashes into a tree at the bottom. Yangyang kicks a rock for a quarter of a mile while following the highway, and Renjun sits on the tracks to rest his feet for a bit. Jaemin crouches and holds his head in his hands, fighting back the nausea.

The music becomes stronger. Yangyang can hear it already, nearing town. He can see houses in the distance, houses with red roof-tiles and cars parked in the driveway. His feet ache, as do his legs and waist. Yangyang's been walking for an eternity, and he can barely glimpse a small town beneath the street lights.

Renjun nurses his feet. Instead of giving into the panic that builds at the back of his mind, he's methodic, checking his soles to make sure there aren't any blisters forming before he moves again. 

Jeno trips. He catches himself with his hands before his face meets the ground, panting heavily. His clothes are sticky with sweat, the air humid and hot. He still can't see much, and even that tiny bit of vision he had earlier is starting to disappear as the sky darkens.

The park remains empty. Jaemin walks, stops in a trance, shakes his head, and forces himself to focus as he moves forward. Rinse and repeat. The moon hangs feeble in the heavens. 

Donghyuck curses colourfully as he collides with an assortment of rocks. It must have rained recently in this area, given the muddy, uneven path. His elbow bleeds from a new gash and he can't bear to look at it for long.

A deer dashes in front of Renjun. Renjun startles at the sudden appearance of the animal, gone as soon as it came. His heartbeat races in his ears.

Jaemin can see a carnival ahead. The colourful tents peek through the treetops, strings of light illuminating the night sky. Beyond that, there doesn't seem to be anything else.

They near the circus. The music increases, mixes with the sounds of laughter and children screaming. Renjun has to stop in his tracks to vomit behind a bush. His throat aches with the action, and as he wipes his chin with his sleeve, he notices there's blood in the spew.

Donghyuck, perhaps belatedly, becomes aware that he's paralyzed. He can't move further. His brain gives the order to his legs but his legs won't listen, rooted to the spot. 

Jeno feels the moisture on his cheeks. He hadn't realised he was crying, nor can he pinpoint the reason why. Not knowing doesn't stop him from leaking tears. He rubs them away with more force than might be necessary.

Yangyang gasps for breath as he keels over. He wants to throw up, but nothing comes. His stomach is restless, his skin tingling. Yangyang gags, the bile working up and down but never quite leaving his throat.

Jaemin pushes through the last few meters, and then he's in the entrance to the carnival. 

Wait, no. Scratch that. This is definitely a circus. Jaemin spots the sign above the ticketing booth, the neon sign nearly blinding as it announces, _**Welcome to Neo Circus**_ , in bold, bright green letters.

Jeno approaches the circus from the back, where they seem to keep the animals. He sees an elephant munching on hay, tied to a post by a flimsy string. It's a miracle it hasn't escaped, yet.

From a side entrance, Donghyuck gapes at the display. His mind tries to reconcile the joy and the sparks from the circus, all the children running free and the smiles on everyone's faces, with his previous awakening in a place of eternal rest, not two miles from here, and fails.

With the last of his energy, Yangyang finds a hole in the wired fence and ducks through. He notices the smaller tents, the lack of noise, and concludes he's in the staff area. His hackles rise and he's quick to wade through the tents, nearly desperate to find the crowd. He can't understand why, but he knows it's best if no one finds him here.

Renjun can't bring his feet to lead him into the lot. He stands outside, looking up at the neon sign and fighting the urge to curl up on the ground. His knees buckle as he hears the telltale sound of a clown performance.

It's hard to say who is found first.

It could be Donghyuck, recognised by a classmate. Despite his shabby hair and worn-out clothes, Donghyuck hasn't changed a bit, and Kim Hyunjin gasps in shock, almost fainting. Her friend follows her eyes and gives a bewildered exclamation, bordering on a shout.

It might be Jeno. His social worker, by some miracle, happens to walk by just as Jeno turns around, and his eyes bulge out of their sockets. Jeno, still struggling to get his breathing under control and legally blind, doesn't notice him until he calls Jeno's name.

Perhaps it’s Jaemin. His mother exits the port-o-potty, preoccupied with layering Purell on her hands, and doesn't notice the youth until she bumps into him.

Renjun stumbles out of reach when a lady, her eyes wide and teary, attempts to grab him by the shoulders. A man that appears to be her husband looks on in shock.

Yangyang helps a little girl stand up after she takes a tumble to the ground. While the kid doesn't bat an eye at his current state, her mother sneers, ready to get away, until she sees his face and her expression turns into astonishment.

Yangyang doesn't like the people coming up to him from all sides, calling his name in bewilderment, and he ducks behind a food stall, his breathing turning erratic.

Renjun and Donghyuck alike duck under outstretched arms and scamper off to a safe distance. Renjun because he doesn't recognise a single face in the crowd, Donghyuck because the touch makes his skin crawl in the most unpleasant way. 

After several failed attempts, Jaemin's mother convinces Jaemin to stay put, her husband off to the side calling the police. They're the first ones to understand that Jaemin can't recognise them, perhaps because he doesn't remember. 

The police arrive, along with ambulances. Jeno panics as people try to grab him, blurry shapes in front of him reaching out to him, and they restrain him after he throws three consecutive punches.

It takes a while to wrestle each of them onto the gurneys, especially when they all thrash and recoil at the barest touch, but soothing words and promises of no harm seem to do the trick.

While the paramedics load them on the ambulances, the police take preliminary statements. It is all a blur of police sirens, bright red and blue lights illuminating every corner of the front entrance, the townspeople gathering in a large crowd to see what all the fuss is about. A general hush falls as, one by one, the people recognise the boys being carried in gurneys, followed by an uproar of questions being thrown around.

Finally, the ambulance doors shut. They ride in pairs, while Jaemin goes alone. Jeno stares at what little he can see ahead of him while the paramedic wraps a bandage around his hand. He feels eyes on him, knows it must be the boy next to him, but he doesn't look over. 

* * *

This hospital is cold.

Yangyang doesn't know if they're all meant to be this way, or if someone turned down the thermostat and forgot to adjust it again. Either way, he's shivering in his gown. He wants to ask for a sweater, or something warmer than this plastic sheet he's forced to wear, but there's no one around.

The nurse that had bandaged his side left the room minutes ago, promising she'll come see him again in a few minutes. He's supposed to be trying to sleep, now, but he's too worked up to even lie down. Yangyang kicks his feet idly, peeking between the gaps in the curtains to see what's happening around him. 

Once they arrived at the hospital, Yangyang witnessed one of the boys kick a tray in his attempt to get away from the doctors, while another boy thrashed until a doctor hit the wall. They were both sedated promptly after the chaos, and Yangyang can see them lying in their respective hospital beds, unconscious. One of them has a bandage wrapped around his head, and the other has a similar strip of gauze on his hand.

They're in the ICU. Yangyang reads the sign above the door from his vantage point, and he can glimpse a few other beds, but the two remaining boys are nowhere to be seen. Yangyang thinks they must have been sedated, as well, or in another unit. 

Somewhere outside the room, beyond the swinging doors and the long corridor, someone shouts in pain. Yangyang winces and covers his ears, scooting back on his bed until he's against the wall. The yells cease quickly, but he doesn't move until the nurse is back.

According to the tag pinned to her chest, her name is Minatozaki Sana. Her nurse uniform — blue pants, white sneakers, and a white shirt under a pink vest — appears clean, not a wrinkle in sight. Her smile is kind and so are her hands as she urges Yangyang to come closer to the edge, where she can continue to tend to his injuries.

"You have a cut on your forehead," Sana explains. "It's going to need stitches, alright? I'll give you some anesthesia, first, and then I'll be quick."

Yangyang doesn't like the needle she's holding. He doesn't want to receive stitches, he certainly doesn't want to be anesthetised. Sana continues to smile kindly, and Yangyang lets her work.

A few police officers are in the unit. Doctors fleet in and out, always talking among themselves with heavy frowns as they read blood test results, nurses with colourful vests like Sana's check their vitals every once in a while, and the police officers rotate every hour. After a while, other than Yangyang, the officers on guard, and the two unconscious boys on the beds across from him, the room is empty.

Yangyang lies on his healthy side. The right side of his torso has been bandaged already, the doctor informing him that the wound is scarring and it only needs dressing for a while. Yangyang, already on pain medication, didn't remember to ask if he was sure about that. He's certain the injury was bleeding earlier today, but everything is fuzzy around the edges. It's hard enough to stay alert.

As he lingers between consciousness and not, he overhears the officers talk. They're tall, buff men, and their voices are rough even if they try to speak quietly.

"Did you see the scars on those kids?" one says to the other. 

Yangyang frowns, thinking back to his own physical examination — they weren't so bad, were they? Sana had frowned, yes, but isn't that the common reaction to scars?

"I've never seen anything like it in my life," the other responds. "It's a miracle they're still alive."

"What's a miracle is that they’ve returned here."

The door swings open. Yangyang hears two separate sets of footsteps approach their beds and stop outside of Yangyang's cot. The curtains are drawn tight, so Yangyang can't see who's beyond them, but the added privacy means he can eavesdrop and no one can tell.

"Officers," one of the newcomers says. A woman, older than the other doctors if her voice is any indication. "I have the preliminary diagnosis for these three boys."

"What can you tell us?" The first officer asks. 

Shuffling of papers. Yangyang peeks an eye open and sees the doctor's silhouette against the curtain: shorter than average, hunched over, and her hair seems to be pulled into a knot on top of her head. The second figure is tall, and a male, but Yangyang can't discern anything else.

"All of the boys present symptoms of PTSD," the doctor begins, "as well as severe amnesia. Most particularly, Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin. While the other patients allowed the nurses to near them and help, they had to be restrained several times, and we had to sedate them in order to work on them."

Lee Jeno and Na Jaemin. At least, Yangyang can put names to their faces. Those are the boys on the cots across the room.

"In addition to minimal, recent wounds, most likely from today, we found significant signs of bodily trauma. Scars in strange places, as well as bruises and marks that would indicate severe physical abuse." Torture, comes to Yangyang's mind. He shudders involuntarily and furrows further under the thick blanket. Wendy had brought it in after she finished stitching him up, saying that the room could get chilly. "However, what's most surprising of all is that we didn't find any signs of dehydration. The boys are underfed, but not starved. No sunburns, either, which might indicate they were somewhere with shade."

The second figure speaks next. His voice is deep, a bit raspy as if he's no stranger to a cigarette, and profoundly worried as he asks, "What type of physical abuse are we talking about?"

Yangyang is sure the doctor's silence is due to hesitance. When she answers, it's more troubled than professional. "I'm not sure. There are recent bite marks on their bodies, but they didn't seem human. They're sharp, like canines, but not from a dog, either."

The man curses, then apologises. The doctor doesn't chide him for his crass words. "We will continue to run tests through the night, as well as tomorrow morning. However, seeing as they aren't in any real danger, I think we could release them to their families as soon as tomorrow evening."

"What about the orphan?" A police officer asks. "And the other boy?"

"Jeno can stay with me," the strange man says firmly, "I've known him for years. As for Yangyang, I have a friend in the foster system who's aware of his situation. He called as soon as he heard and said he and his wife are willing to take care of him."

The officers nod, satisfied. The group begins to exit the room, but the doctor stops the strange man with a hand on his sleeve. "Detective, if I may… I saw your brother downstairs, in reception. I know he wants to see his friend, but now isn't the best time. It's best if he goes home and rests, he can visit tomorrow or, better yet, wait for the boy's parents to take him home."

The detective sighs audibly. "It's easier said than done. I'll try dragging him back to mine as soon as I'm done taking statements from the parents."

The doctor pats his back and leads him to the exit. Yangyang peeks his head out of his little corner and sees the two officers are still standing guard, but outside of the room, probably to give them quiet.

Yangyang lies back on the cot and stares at the ceiling, his head spinning. _His situation_? What the hell does that mean? Why would he need to go with a foster family? 

A shiver runs down his spine. He doesn't know why, he can't _remember_ why, but he thinks he knows this isn't entirely a bad thing. Something in the back of his head tells him that he should be happy about this.

The more he tries to think about it, the more tired he feels. He doesn't realise he's fallen asleep until there's a hand on his shoulder, shaking him awake.

Yangyang blinks and throws a confused glance around the room. The ICU is significantly more illuminated than it was before, the curtains on the bay windows drawn open to allow in as much sunlight as possible. He can hear the beeping of his heart monitor, as well as two others, along with the scuffle of shoes and a muttered conversation.

Sana's standing next to his hospital bed. She looks exactly as she did last night, which means she probably worked the night shift, but her smile is intact, just as friendly as before. The blanket she gave him is pooled around his waist.

"Good morning," she greets him. Yangyang tries to reciprocate the gesture and finds his voice is cracked beyond belief. "Don't try to talk yet, drink this first."

Yangyang takes the glass of water and sips on the straw. He notices the needle stuck to his hand, although he can't recall when they did that. He scans the room again and sees two silhouettes behind the curtain of another cot, where a boy had been sleeping.

As he looks back to Sana, he accidentally makes eye contact with the boy in the bed directly across his. Yangyang startles, surprised more than anything. The other boy doesn't seem bothered, staring at him as he eats what looks like jelly. His forehead is pulled in a frown.

The doors swing open, and in come three more people, two men and a woman. They approach Yangyang's cot, all wearing friendly smiles on their faces. Two of them appear to be a couple, confirmed by the glint of their matching rings.

The other man stops at the foot of the other boy's hospital bed and says, "Hello, Jeno. You probably don't remember me, but I'm Detective Johnny Suh. I'll be talking to you in a minute, I just need to run through introductions first."

Jeno — nice name, Yangyang thinks, and fitting — only nods once, still eating his jelly. Detective Suh rejoins his two partners by Yangyang's corner.

"Good morning, Yangyang," the detective waves. His smile is friendly, and his voice confirms Yangyang's suspicions that he's the same man as last night. "As you probably heard, I'm Detective Johnny Suh. I am the leading detective in the investigation. These are my friends, Qian Kun and Han Dong. They will be taking care of you for a while."

Yangyang looks at the couple. They both smile pleasantly, her cotton dress a match for his sweater vest. Yeah, they're married, alright. Which means, they must be the people detective Suh was talking about last night.

"Hi," Yangyang says meekly. "Nice to meet you, I guess."

Han Dong sits on the chair next to his bed, folding her skirt under her legs. Yangyang can smell her perfume. "Hello. I'm glad you're awake, how are you feeling?"

Yangyang figures there's no point in lying. He takes another sip of his water and replies, "I feel like someone threw me off a moving bus and then ran me over just for laughs."

Sana's hand stills on his blanket. Detective Suh, as well as the couple, appears lost for words. Yangyang finishes his water and places the cup on the little tray by his bed. 

After a few more seconds of awkward silence — during which Yangyang is certain he sees Jeno stifle a laugh — Detective Suh clears his throat. "I'm sorry to hear that. You must be wondering where your parents are, right?"

_Not really_ , Yangyang thinks. _I overheard last night and know they won't be coming_. He shrugs instead of replying. 

"While we were investigating your disappearance," Detective Suh explains, choosing his words carefully, "Evidence came up regarding your home situation. Both of your parents were arrested and they are currently serving time in prison for child neglect and abuse."

Yangyang doesn't say anything to that. What's he supposed to say?

"I don't remember anything beyond the past 24 hours," Yangyang tells him pointedly, "so if you're expecting me to know what you're talking about, I don't."

"No," the detective replies. "I don't. I know you have amnesia. The reason I'm telling you now is because my friends here are willing to take you in, seeing as there's… nowhere, for you to go."

"You've aged out of the system," Kun speaks for the first time, "but that's no reason to leave you out."

"Oh," Yangyang says. "Alright, then. Thank you."

All three adults share a look of clear concern. Should Yangyang have reacted differently to the news? He probably should've cried, right? He still might, to be honest, but only because he's getting an awful headache. He can feel the pressure build behind his eyes.

"Now that I've introduced you," the detective claps his hands in a poor attempt to lighten the mood, "I'll leave you to get acquainted. After you're released from the hospital, I'll need you to come into the station so we can chat, but don't worry. Take your time, buddy."

"Thanks," Yangyang murmurs. He watches him approach Jeno's cot and disappear behind the curtains.

Sana is still checking his vitals, writing everything down on his chart. Kun fidgets with a loose strand on his vest. Han Dong's eyes are wide and earnest, as if she hopes to cure him of all things just from her gaze.

"So," Yangyang says awkwardly, "you two are married?"

* * *

Johnny's house is nice. It's a one story building, with a little garden in the backyard and a basketball hoop on the front porch. There's a spare room, which apparently Johnny's little brother uses when he stays over, and Johnny claims he could use the company.

Jeno doesn't have much in terms of belongings. In fact, other than the borrowed clothes on his back and the pair of glasses the doctors gave him once they realised he couldn't see shit, he doesn't have anything else. Johnny had brought him clothes his size today, so he could have something else to wear while he was discharged. Apparently, his original clothes were in a police department's evidence room.

Johnny shows him around the house. "Here's the living room, feel free to watch TV or use the DVD player. I have some books in here, but I don't know how interesting you might find them," he laughs awkwardly. 

Jeno doesn't respond, but he peers inside the wooden cabinet. There are maybe a dozen books stacked randomly, varying in length and thickness. 

"The kitchen. Again, you can eat whatever you like during the day, and I'll probably bring dinner once I'm off my shift. I'm not much of a cook, so the fridge might be a little empty, but I'll go shopping later. Right now, though, we might have to settle for mac and cheese for lunch."

Jeno cracks a smile. For some reason, the idea of having mac and cheese amuses him. Maybe it's the mental image of Detective Johnny Suh having a kids' meal because he can't cook anything else.

"This is your room." Johnny opens the door and gives Jeno a chance to look around. It seems like a basic room, with a bed, a dresser and a window with a view of the tiny garden. "It used to be more cluttered but I made my brother clear out his shit before I brought you here."

Jeno's smile widens. The first time Johnny cussed in front of him, he'd turned every shade of red, apologising. Now, he doesn't bat an eye, not after Jeno told him, "Didn't you say so yourself? I'm nineteen, not a kid."

"Thank you," Jeno says. He means it, and he wonders if Johnny can tell. He hasn't spoken much to anyone other than him and the doctors at the hospital — and they had to lure the answers out of him — so he isn't sure if he's doing this correctly. _This_ being the wide range of human emotions he's having a hard time dealing with.

There's something about not remembering a single thing about your past that wipes out anything that isn't confusion, grief, and anger. Jeno wants to show Johnny how grateful he is that he's taking him in when he didn't have to, but he doesn't know if he's doing a good job. 

According to Johnny, he used to arrest Jeno a lot when he was younger. Johnny won't share much more than he has to, because the doctors warned them against overwhelming any of them with too much information. So far all Jeno knows is that he's an orphan and the poster child for teenage trouble in the small town of Vrais.

"We have to go into the station soon," Johnny reminds him. This is the third time he says so, but Jeno doesn't point that out. "You can freshen up in the guest bathroom and we'll leave when you're ready."

With that, Johnny leaves him alone, disappearing into what Jeno guesses is his own bedroom. Jeno wonders if he often leaves recurring criminals alone.

Jeno snoops around the bedroom, finding nothing of real interest. The closet still has some clothes Jeno's size, which he safely concludes belong to the younger brother. The desk drawers have pens and papers, a pencil sharpener, and one highlighter with no ink. The bed has been recently made, and the sheets smell clean.

The guest bathroom is a little more interesting. There's a toothbrush still in its package, as well as a wrapped bar of soap and a new bottle of shampoo. There are two towels on top of the sink and toothpaste. Jeno entertains himself for a second by reading the labels on everything before washing up.

It's while he stands in front of the sink to brush his teeth that he sees the cross. Jeno nearly spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, peering closer into the mirror. Below his right eye, right above his cheekbone, is a cross. Jeno runs his finger over it, amazed, and a little surprised.

Johnny's back in the living room when Jeno exits the bathroom, breath minty fresh. 

"When did I get this tattoo?" Jeno asks him. He points to the cross on his cheek.

Startled, Johnny drops the magazine in his hands. "Um, right around the time you got all the other ones?"

"Others?" Jeno squeaks. "Where?"

"Okay, keep in mind that I only know where they are because you were underage when you had them done and that's illegal, and I had to document it." Johnny motions Jeno to follow him.

They go to Johnny's bedroom, where a full-body mirror leans against the wall. Johnny positions Jeno in front of it, turns him halfway around, and says, "Take off your shirt."

_He has two more tattoos._

One lies on his hipbone, a dragonfly shaded green, and the other is a medium-sized dragon between his shoulder blades.

"Holy shit," Jeno exclaims.

Johnny gives him an unimpressed look. "You got them at fifteen. It gave your then foster parents a heart attack." He considers him, tilts his head to the side, and adds, "It also helped in shutting down an illegal tattoo parlour, so I guess something good came out of it."

"So you're saying it was a good thing I got them," Jeno smiles cheekily, "and that I helped stop crime."

Johnny barks out a laugh."That is so not what I'm saying, but feel free to think whatever you want. Come on, we gotta get going."

Jeno pulls his shirt back on after taking a last look at the tattoos. They ride in relative silence for five minutes to the police station, with Johnny pointing things out to him every once in a while: the grocery store closest to his place, the drugstore, a breakfast place that Johnny likes.

The station bustles with activity. Johnny leads him toward the back of the first floor, where his desk is located. Jeno resolutely ignores the stares on his back and sits in Johnny's chair as prompted.

"I have to go see if the other kids have arrived," Johnny says, "so just wait here and I'll come get you in a bit."

"Okay, sure," Jeno nods. The other officers pretend like they aren't looking at him, and he's happy to pretend like he doesn't notice.

Johnny's desk is full of folders, stacks of papers, and a computer. Jeno sees the edge of the keyboard buried under a stack of photographs. He would love to be nosey, but he doesn't want to upset Johnny, so he settles for grabbing a blank paper and a pencil, drawing randomly.

Five minutes later, Johnny herds him to an interrogation room down the hall. This feels a little more familiar, and Jeno resists the urge to snort.

There are four other boys in the room. Two of them are sitting down by the table, while the others opt to stand, in spite of there being enough chairs for everyone. 

Jeno recognises Yangyang, the boy in the hospital bed across from his, and Jaemin, but he doesn't know the other two. Jaemin stands in a corner of the room, looking ready to bolt, while Yangyang sits at the table, looking down at his lap.

(That’s not entirely true. He knows he knows them, and he knows they know him, too. No one mentions it, though.)

Johnny sits down across from them, and this is when Jeno notices there's another detective in the room. He seems to be the same age as Johnny, glasses perched on his nose and a frown marring his otherwise handsome features as he reads something in a file.

Well. Jeno supposes that, if they're going to be interrogated, he might as well get comfortable. He takes one of the empty seats, next to a boy he doesn't know. Jeno spots the scattering of moles across his cheek and neck, and thinks they seem familiar.

"Hello," Johnny says. "I'm Detective Suh, in case you don't remember me. This is my partner, Detective Kim Dongyoung. We're the detectives in charge of your investigation."

"What's there to investigate?" Jaemin asks. This is Jeno's first time hearing him talk. "We're here, aren't we? Mystery solved."

"Uh, no, mystery very much not solved," the boy next to Jeno snaps. "I don't know about you but I would love to know what the hell happened to me."

"That's what we're here for," Detective Kim steps in. "We would like to hear from each of you, everything that's happened in the past four days, starting Wednesday evening."

Silence. No one seems eager to speak first. Johnny waits a moment longer and says, looking at Jeno's seat neighbour, "Donghyuck, why don't you go first?"

So that's his name. Donghyuck takes a shaky breath, his legs spreading and closing beneath the table as he adjusts, and he starts rambling. 

Jeno will admit, he's surprised to hear about the empty caskets. He spaces out for most of what Donghyuck says, however, trying to string a coherent retelling in his head. 

One by one, they all recount their stories. Johnny, as well as his partner, take notes with increasingly worried expressions, until they no longer remember to write anything down. As soon as Jaemin is done talking, the interrogation room goes silent.

"You all walked to the circus?" Detective Kim asks, just to clarify. They nod. "That's odd. It was probably the music that attracted you."

It was, and it wasn't. Jeno can't explain it, but he knows there's something other than the music being loud enough for them to choose the exact same place to approach. Not to mention, neither of them mentioned anything about nearing the circus in search for help — they just said they felt attracted to the place. Jeno doesn't point that out, either.

Donghyuck bounces his knee under the table. Jeno is tempted to make him stop, but he doesn't think he would appreciate a stranger putting his hand on his knee.

"Can we go home now?" Renjun blurts out. Jeno echoes the sentiment even if he doesn't have much of a home. Johnny's spare room sounds much more enticing than here. 

"Soon," Johnny reassures him. "First, you're welcome to ask us any questions you may have about… everything."

Jeno hesitates before asking, "Is it true that the circus was here the day of the storm?"

He doesn't know why it bothers him so much. The question leaves a sour taste in his mouth, as if the mere mention of the circus evokes every bad emotion in him. The anger and the grief settle over him again, and he doesn't understand why.

If Johnny or Detective Kim think it's a strange question, they don't say it. Johnny nods and says, "Yes. They left a few hours before the storm started. A few weeks ago, we received a call from the ringmaster, asking if it would be alright for them to come during the anniversary."

"They wanted to pay tribute," Detective Kim adds. "Everyone talked about it for weeks. I guess the townspeople think it was a nice gesture, you know?"

That doesn't settle well with Jeno. Apparently, the other boys agree. There's a scrape of metal against the floor and Yangyang races for the waste basket by the door, throwing up everything in him. Renjun kneels at his side, rubbing his back, and Jeno doesn't miss the troubled expression he wears.

On that happy note, they're free to leave. Renjun helps Yangyang to his feet and out the room, the water bottle Johnny retrieved from the break room empty before anyone can blink. Jaemin is gone quickly, and Donghyuck scampers after him. Only Jeno loiters, because there's really no way he can leave without Johnny. 

Johnny and Detective Kim take their time to organise their notes and make small talk, seemingly unbothered that Jeno is eavesdropping.

It's only once they're back in Johnny's car, driving back to his place after Johnny's superiors gave him the rest of the day off, that Jeno voices his thoughts.

"I wouldn't trust the circus, if I were you."

* * *

Donghyuck slumps against the locked door and heaves a sigh of relief. After the detectives let them go, he speedwalked to where his parents were waiting for him, eager to get out. They wanted to know how it went, asking him all sorts of questions, but he didn't answer any of them. Back at their house, he avoided eye contact with everyone as he excused himself, saying he needed to lie down. He thinks he glimpsed disappointed in his sister's eyes, but he ignored it.

The mattress remains bare, just how he left it this morning. When he woke up to stained sheets and an uncomfortable wetness in his pants, it had been barely 5 a.m. Perhaps too early to do laundry, but Donghyuck was glad he at least remembered how to do it. His skills bank is filled with knowledge he doesn't know how he acquired, but it's useful. 

However, he didn't redress the bed. He simply washed the sheets and clothes, took a long shower and, afterwards, he sat in the living room and stared at the wall until his youngest sibling wandered downstairs.

Donghyuck sighs. The linen closet is just down the hall — he could easily grab a fresh change of sheets, if only so he can be comfortable while drowning in his misery. 

He steps out into the hallway in time to see someone reach the second floor. Donghyuck stands outside his room, unsure of how to proceed. He hasn't seen this boy before, even though the boy clearly knows him.

"Hi," the boy waves, a bit clumsy. "I'm Mark."

"Hello, Mark," Donghyuck nods. 

They stay quiet for a long, unbearable minute. Donghyuck rocks on his heels, all too aware of Mark's eyes roaming over him, as if he can't quite believe what he's seeing. 

"I take it we knew each other," Donghyuck says. Mark snaps back to attention, embarrassed at being caught staring. 

"Yeah. We were friends," Mark says, approaching. "Best friends, actually."

Donghyuck takes a better look. If he tries, he can glimpse familiarity in Mark's features, but most of his head is a giant question mark. He almost laughs at the irony.

"Well, if we were best friends, then you probably don't have a problem with helping me put sheets on my bed." Donghyuck doesn't wait for an answer, walking past Mark to the closet.

He's sure there's a smile on Mark's face when he says, "Already ordering me around, I see. It's really you." There's entirely too much in that final sentence to unpack, so Donghyuck does what he can: he grabs the first pair of sheets he finds and dumps them in Mark's outstretched arms, carrying the new duvet himself.

Donghyuck will admit to something: he's comfortable with Mark around. The past four days have been horrible, feeling like a fish out of water regardless of who he's with, doubting everything people say because he has no way of knowing if it's true. But this feels different — Mark isn't overwhelming him with questions, nor is he trying to convince Donghyuck of their friendship. He's simply tucking the edges of the bed sheets under the mattress.

"Your mom said to tell you that lunch will be ready soon," Mark says conversationally, walking around the mattress to ensure the sheets don't have any wrinkles. "She didn't say what she was cooking but it smelled interesting."

"Does she… do that often?" Donghyuck asks, despite of himself. "She's been cooking weird stuff since yesterday."

"I don't think she'd appreciate you calling her vegan meals 'weird', but yes," Mark smiles. 

The bed is done. Donghyuck puts his hands in his pockets and blinks at Mark, waiting to see what he'll say or do. He isn't sure if he's surprised or relieved when Mark sits on the desk chair and starts playing with the little post-it notes attached to the computer screen.

"I remember this assignment," Mark points to a bright green note, "We were supposed to recreate a scene from a Chaucer tale, and you wanted to make our outfits out of cardboard and scraps from your grandmother's store."

"Why are you here?" Donghyuck snaps. He can't bear to hear more about things he doesn't remember, not after three days of having adults trying to chatter his memories back into his brain. "Is this another attempt at making my amnesia go away? Because it doesn't work that way, I'll have you know."

Mark blinks at him, dropping his hands to his lap. "That's not what I'm — I'm sorry," he apologises. "I just wanted to see you."

Donghyuck doesn't know what he hates more: how earnest Mark sounds, or how it softens him. 

"I'm sorry, too." Donghyuck sits on the edge of the bed and toys with the bedspread. "I'm sorry I don't remember you."

"You don't have to apologise for that," Mark frowns. "I'm just happy to see you again."

Donghyuck looks up. For a split second, there's a memory at the tip of his tongue. Something about summer, and skateboarding at the park. It's gone as soon as it comes, but the sensation of familiarity remains. 

"So am I," he says honestly. "I can't explain it, but. Yeah. I'm happy to see you too."

Mark does a poor job of hiding his smile. 

Donghyuck lets him ramble on about a myriad of things. Mark fills every silence with a different anecdote, and although sometimes he looks at Donghyuck with hope shimmering in his eyes, he mostly talks to pass the time. Donghyuck listens — surprises himself with how eager he is to drink in every word — and asks questions when he has them. Mark never fails to light up at the show of interest.

Later, Donghyuck's mother calls them down for lunch. It's past lunchtime, Donghyuck knows, but they all go downstairs, either way. There's a stampede as the younger kids race each other down the stairs, nearly knocking Mark out of the way. Mark only laughs and threatens to throw them over the fence, to which the kids shriek in joy.

The table is crowded. In addition to Donghyuck, Mark, and Donghyuck's parents, there are his siblings and his grandmother. Food is passed around in bowls, the little kids cringing at the brussel sprouts so generously served on their plates. Donghyuck meets eyes with Mark and sees he's also looking at the food with a little apprehension, even if he thanks Donghyuck's mother with an 'auntie'. 

Jesus, were they really so close? Donghyuck tries to place the memory again, or any other memory, but he's overwhelmed. His grandmother pinches his cheeks all the time, his siblings scream in unison, his parents talk over the noise, and Donghyuck can't take it. 

This isn't his life. 

Without bothering to excuse himself, and ignoring the growling in his stomach, he stands from the table and makes a beeline for the stairs. It takes everything in him not to run.

Once he's safely hidden beneath the blankets, he hears a knock on his door. He doesn't say anything, and soon Mark's voice comes through the wood, "Hey, Hyuck." Donghyuck flinches at the nickname, hearing it replay in his head as if to mock him. "I, uh, made you a sandwich. It has meat," he laughs breathily. "I have to go home now, but I hope you eat it. I'll leave it here."

Donghyuck resists the urge to cry as he hears Mark's sincere concern. Somehow, he can see it in his head, as if he's seen it before: Mark's care, his concern for him. A new memory unlocked: Donghyuck failing at something, and Mark comforting him.

He burrows further and covers his head with a pillow. He doesn't feel comfortable — this doesn't feel like his bed, his sheets, or his room. It doesn't feel like his house or his family. It doesn't feel like his life at all. Donghyuck feels like an intruder. He feels as if the real Lee Donghyuck died a year ago, and he's just a shadow, a vessel of who he was. Just a puppet that looks and sounds like Lee Donghyuck, but isn't him.

There have been two instances alone during the day where he's felt real: talking with Mark, and in the interrogation room.

Donghyuck wishes he had the words to describe it. How is he supposed to explain that he knew their names before the detectives called them? That he knew their voices before they spoke? That he knew, instinctively, that Renjun would be the one to comfort Yangyang while he threw up? That Jaemin would be the first out the door?

Upon walking in that room, Donghyuck knew he knew them. He could feel it in his gut. 

Sighing, Donghyuck shifts to lie on his back and stares at the ceiling. He noticed the stars glued to the surface last night, but only now does he realise they're following a pattern. It's a constellation. 

The Big Dipper, he knows. The sort of knowledge he guesses that is just carrying over from the past, without any explanation for it. 

Donghyuck's stomach rumbles, reminding him that all he had to eat today was a bowl of cereal and an apple. He opens the door quietly and picks up the wrapped plate, closing the door and locking it.

The sandwich is good. And it has meat. Donghyuck allows himself to smile at Mark's absurd joke as he eats. The sun is dipping low beyond his window, and a quick glance at the alarm clock on his bedside table tells him it's past 5 p.m.

Maybe it's too early for bed. Donghyuck scans the room in search for something that could entertain him for a while, and only one thing catches his eye. Buried underneath a pile of textbooks, he spies a phone.

Donghyuck thinks it's worth a shot. He waits until he's sure the coast is clear before opening the door, leaves the plate outside, and then locks himself in again. The phone is, as expected, dead, but he sees the charger peeking out of a drawer.

After plugging it in and waiting five minutes, he turns it on. It's locked, Donghyuck's fingers hovering over the screen, until he lets instinct take over. He types a series of numbers and feels no little amount of satisfaction as it turns out to be right.

The phone automatically connects to the WiFi and he has to wait as it copes with the onslaught of notifications, but he can finally use it.

Donghyuck goes to the gallery. The very first ten pictures are of him and Mark, all in varying places and times — there's one taken at night in what looks like a backyard, another one at school early in the morning. Donghyuck scrolls down, finds photos with his siblings, his parents, other kids he doesn't remember but recognises, somehow. 

The calendar is his next stop. Apparently, a year ago today he had a soccer match. Guess he was late for that. Oops. 

He almost doesn't check the messages app. But the number on top of the icon (999+) is too tempting. There are hundreds of unopened chat rooms with unread messages, but the one he opens is Mark's. It appears like he used their chat room as some sort of journal for the past year, pouring his everything out on messages that no one was supposed to read. Donghyuck resolutely bites down on his lip to keep from crying — how can his mind be so blank while his heart remembers so much? 

Donghyuck reads the last few messages. They're from the days prior to the anniversary, and distinctly grieving. Mark types as if Donghyuck will be on the other side of the screen, and it breaks Donghyuck's heart. 

He closes the app, locks the phone, and leaves it facedown on the bedside table. He knows Mark will see he's read the messages, and that he will probably have questions, but Donghyuck will worry about it later.

For now, he curls up on the bed, closes his eyes, and cries as silently as he can manage.

* * *

The Na's insist on having dinner together. It's a homemade meal, roasted beef and mashed potatoes on the side, and it's admittedly good. Jaemin eats, thankful his stomach can handle the food this time around — he couldn't hold down anything at the hospital, and this morning he tried to have breakfast only to throw everything up minutes later on the kitchen sink. He has nothing in his stomach but coffee and water, and a package of crackers the maid offered him at lunchtime.

As they eat, the dining room is silent, awkward. You can hear the scratching of the cutlery against the plates, and Jaemin is fairly certain he can hear his mother swallow every bite of food. He doesn't make a comment, not wanting to hurt her feelings, but it freaks him the fuck out. 

"May I be excused?" Jaemin asks when he's done. He cleared the plate, just in case they would ask him to finish eating before he could leave.

"Sure," his mother nods, offering him a tight smile, "good night, darling."

"Good night," he rushes. His father waves while sipping his wine. Jaemin makes a conscious effort to stay cool as he goes upstairs.

His is a very impersonal room. Other than a shelf full of trophies (equestrianism, water polo, math olympics), and a few trinkets here and there, nothing indicates a teenager lived here. Jaemin already knows he attended boarding school, and therefore it's expected his room would be tidy, but he didn't think it would be so… bare. Sad. 

The closet doesn't have much in terms of clothing. Other than his school uniform (two spares) pressed neatly in a plastic bag, and a few changes of clothes he could wear out, there isn't anything else. The drawers have pajamas, and after a bit of digging around the large closet he found his underwear, but that's it. Jaemin obviously didn't spend much time here.

After changing into his sleepwear (all his pajamas seem to be silk, matching, monochrome) and brushing his teeth, Jaemin grabs his cellphone from the desk and gets into bed. His… _friends_ have been texting him since the news of his reapparance, asking him how he's doing. Jaemin doesn't know how to reply, so he hasn't. He feels bad about leaving them on read, but he doesn't have the words to explain to himself how he's feeling, let alone to a group of relative strangers.

Jaemin exits the messaging app and opens his social media. The news of their disappearances are all over news outlets, and Jaemin scrolls past three consecutive posts advertising podcasts about the _mysterious Vrais teen banishments_ before closing the app, as well. He throws the phone down on his bedding and groans.

He can't escape this, can he? He's going to be the returning teenager until he dies. 

God, that sucks.

Jaemin doesn't notice when he falls asleep. Nor does he become aware of the fact he's dreaming until he sees himself walk into the room.

He's in the living room, and it's raining. Dream-Jaemin is dressed in pajama pants and a hoodie, socked feet gliding across the floor as he goes from the little bar in the corner to the couch. Jaemin watches himself plop down on a cushion, open a can of soda and gulp it all in one go before picking up his phone. Outside, a lightning bolt illuminates the sky. Jaemin knows everything before it happens, but is powerless to stop it.

Thunder shakes the house. Dream-Jaemin looks up, alarmed, and Jaemin can see him worry his bottom lip for a second before going back to whatever he's doing on his phone. The house is silent, empty, and somewhere beyond the living room is a TV turned on for background noise. Jaemin discovers he can move, so he approaches dream-Jaemin. He's playing some sort of game on his phone, one Jaemin doesn't recognise.

More thunder, then the lights go out. Dream-Jaemin squeaks in surprise, or maybe fear, before standing up from the couch. Jaemin follows him as he leaves the living room, his phone's torch giving very little light to fend off the overbearing darkness of the house.

Upstairs, something crashes to the ground. Both Jaemins jump at the sound, dream-Jaemin trying to illuminate where the sound came from and fails, while Jaemin thinks that it's no use. It's no longer upstairs.

Dream-Jaemin walks outside. It's pouring cats and dogs, and he's dressed in the least weather appropriate outfit possible, but he still jogs to the back of the house. Jaemin, fast on his heels, doesn't feel a single drop of rain land on him.

They're at the shed. Dream-Jaemin checks the breaker panel and pulls on a random switch. Nothing happens. Jaemin feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand, and he fights back the nausea. There's someone here with them.

Dream-Jaemin tries a different lever. This time, the lightbulb above them comes to life for a millisecond and then fizzles out. In the momentary light, Jaemin sees a shadow flicker across the wall, and dream-Jaemin sees it, too. With a sense of urgency, dream-Jaemin tries a different lever. His hands are sweaty from fear, his heartbeat loud enough for him to hear it, and Jaemin feels the panic take over him as the darkness engulfs them.

The phone's torch dies. Dream-Jaemin whimpers and pockets the phone, frantically pulling on a lever that refuses to budge. Something approaches him, _them_ , in the dark.

The lights come on. Dream-Jaemin breathes a sigh of relief and turns on his heels, ready to go back to his room. Instead, he comes face to face with a monster, and Jaemin is expelled from his dream.

He ends up outside a house. It's a different neighborhood, the houses smaller, more worn out. There aren't many cars on the streets, only a bicycle chained to a fence and a few beat up vehicles that seem more fitting for a demolition derby than the road.

It's still raining. Jaemin knows this is the same night. The rain is heavier this time, accompanied by severe thunder and harsh winds. Jaemin can almost taste the static in the air. Someone comes running toward him, but he doesn't fear it.

It's Yangyang. Like Jaemin, he's dry, and he's dressed in cotton pants and an oversized college football tee. His hair sticks out every which way.

"What the fuck is going on?" Yangyang demands. His false bravado is betrayed by the waver of his voice.

"You're dreaming," Jaemin says. He's certain that this is a dream, as well as, "A memory. You're dreaming about something that happened to you."

Yangyang gapes at him. Before he can say anything, they hear a scream full of agony and fear. It sounds exactly like Yangyang, except he didn't make that noise. Down the street, lightning strikes a lamppost, sparks fly, and a small fire starts on the grass below.

They turn toward the commotion. There's a van parked outside one of the more rundown houses, the back doors open. The house's front yard isn't much more than dry grass and a few broken bottles. Jaemin sees huddled figures inside the van, and he thinks their positions are odd, but his attention is taken up by dream-Yangyang as he thrashes in his kidnapper's hold. His hands and feet are tied, and someone wrestles something in his mouth so he won't keep screaming. They carry him out of the house and to the van.

Yangyang starts to run toward the scene, then stops. He turns around to look at Jaemin. His face is wet with something other than rain. "I can't do anything, can I?"

"No," Jaemin shakes his head. He can only watch as the man throws Yangyang inside the van, his head thumping painfully against the floor, and the doors slam shut. The man jumps into the front seat of the van and drives off. Yangyang starts to say something, but it's lost in the whirlwind.

Another dream. Jeno is the centre of attention this time. Jaemin shakes his head to rid himself of the cloying sensation of horror. He can't give in to the panic now, no matter how terribly familiar this setting feels. As if he knows what will happen next.

They're inside a tent, a circus tent, and there's maybe a dozen people gathered inside. Their faces are cloaked in the dark, and all Jaemin can see are glimpses of something sharp and shiny. The real Jeno is next to Jaemin, breathing heavily, shirtless and in borrowed sweatpants — they're too short for him, his ankles peeking out from beneath the fabric. The tent is lit in soft candlelight and smells heavily of incense. 

Dream-Jeno is tied up and laid out on the table like a meal, dressed in rags, his head held to the side to expose a long expanse of neck. Whoever's holding him has pitch black nails and bloody knuckles. 

Jaemin doesn't want to see. He wants to look away, he wants to wake up and be back in his room, but he can't. It feels like his feet are anchored to the muddy ground, and all he can do is pray it's over soon. Jeno doesn't acknowledge him, not even when Jaemin takes his hand in solidarity. All he does is squeeze Jaemin's fingers, tighter and tighter until he cuts off the blood flow.

A woman descends on dream-Jeno, black hair falling over her face like a curtain. Jaemin has a glimpse of her ruby eyes before she buries her face on the side of dream-Jeno's neck. Sharp teeth sink into his flesh, and dream-Jeno's scream of pain pierces the night. Blood oozes from his neck, and then the others follow her lead. When his neck is occupied, others take over his wrists, his forearms, his torso. Dream-Jeno thrashes, screams, and eventually quiets down. They've drained him of whatever energy he had.

A different man approaches him. He's beautiful, and he only gathers the blood spilled from his neck in one finger, licks it off, and orders for someone else to take him away. "Bring the next one," he says.

Now, he's in another tent. There's daylight outside, and the gaps in the fabric allow a small view of what's happening around them. There are three boys crowded together, and there aren't any chains on them, but they're trapped, anyway. Jaemin knows this with certainty.

This tent is different. There aren't any tables or decorations, except for two blankets on the floor and discarded water bottles. The ground is all dirt, and the air is suffocating.

It's Donghyuck's dream. Donghyuck watches on with wide eyes, almost hyperventilating. Jaemin spots dream-Renjun by the small opening of the tent, keeping guard. Donghyuck sees Jaemin but doesn't ask, perhaps too occupied with the scene before them.

Dream-Donghyuck cradles Jeno's head in his lap while Yangyang holds his wrists. A soft light emits from them, and Jaemin isn't entirely surprised when the bloodied wounds on his body close. Dream-Donghyuck whispers encouragement to both of them, and Jaemin sees himself pacing back and forth on the other side of the tent.

"Am I dreaming?" Donghyuck whispers. 

Jaemin nods. "And remembering. This is my fourth of the night."

Donghyuck makes a distressed noise. Dream-Donghyuck wipes tears from dream-Jeno's face, and Jaemin sneaks a look at Donghyuck to gauge his reaction. Something akin to understanding dawns on his face. 

"Someone's coming," dream-Renjun warns them, and the dream dissipates. 

This is the last one, Jaemin knows. They're still in the tent, and two other boys are with them. One is tall, gangly, skin pale and wrists hollow, while the other is shorter, equally skinny, his eyes round and kind. They brought them food, and water. The tent doesn't feel as asphyxiating as it did before.

It's Renjun's memory. The boy sits cross-legged on the muddy ground, seemingly knowing that his sweatpants won't get dirty. Jaemin sits with him, for once not feeling like he's about to witness something horrific.

They don't speak. They only watch as dream-them eat the meal like starved men, sharing the water bottle. The two kids speak in hushed tones to them, warning them not to piss off the others. 

"We left them behind," Renjun whispers. His voice cracks, and Jaemin doesn't mention the tears that roll down his face.

"I don't think we could've brought them with us," Jaemin confesses. Their names are on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't seem like his subconscious wishes to go so far, not yet.

Jaemin feels the dream start to disappear. Before it's too late, he grasps Renjun's arm and says, "Tomorrow. Meet me at the square at noon. Promise," he insists at Renjun's hesitancy.

Despite not understanding his urgency, Renjun nods. His face blurs, the edges of Jaemin's vision turn black. The curtain falls.

* * *

Renjun's abrupt screaming cuts off a bird mid song.

His parents trample into his room, frantically calling his name as Renjun cries and thrashes in bed. The bed sheets are soaked, and his hair clings to his forehead. The Star Wars comforter lays crumpled on the ground. Renjun's throat aches — a part of him can tell he’s screaming himself hoarse, but the bigger part is still in that nightmare.

A nightmare that didn't feel fabricated at all. It felt real, and terrifying.

It took his parents the better part of an hour to calm him down and for the tears to stop. The yelling ceased on its own, maybe because his vocal chords couldn't take it anymore, or maybe because his mind had deemed it enough for the day. Renjun sits in bed, leaning against the headboard, while his mother fetches a glass of water from the kitchen. His father brushes his fringe away from his eyes and murmurs reassurances, but they fall on deaf ears.

"I'm okay," Renjun assures them. It's a big, fat lie and they know it. Renjun insists, though, and his parents share a meaningful look before they eventually cave.

"We'll make something light for you to eat," his mother says. Renjun nods, dizzy from his previous outburst, and waits for them to leave his room before making a beeline for the bathroom.

Renjun showers mechanically, his thoughts still far away in that dream, and when he steps back inside his room, he notices the bedsheets were swiped out for new ones. The comforter is back in place, and the little stuffed bear he'd put on the nightstand the night before is also back on the bed. Renjun sighs and leaves it there — it's a little childish, but the sight makes him feel better, even if his face, neck, and chest flush with embarrassment at soaking the bed sheets like a child that hasn't been potty trained yet. 

At the breakfast table, his parents do their best to distract him. Renjun is certain they're just doing what the doctors told them (keep him company, talk to him normally, try to reintroduce him to his former life) and he would appreciate it more if they weren't so darn obvious. Their meal is good — oatmeal, with little fruits cut up, and a glass of water for Renjun because his mother doesn't think coffee is a good idea at the moment — and Renjun does his best to quell the little nagging voice in his head that whispers all sorts of warnings in favour of scarfing down the bacon and eggs laid out on his plate.

"Renjun, wait."

Renjun stops mid-rise. His mother is picking up the dirty plates from the table while his father is at the sink, wetting the sponge in preparation for doing the dishes. 

"Yes? Do you need my help?" He'd offered earlier, but they told him not to worry. 

His mother shakes her head. "No, no, we got it. I just wanted to ask… Yukhei called. He found out about your return through the news — although we would've liked to tell him ourselves — and he was wondering if he could come see you."

"See me?"

"Yes," his mother pauses, tilting her head to the side. "He's away for college, but you two were close, and —"

"Xuxi," Renjun blurts out. "Wong Yukhei?"

"Yes," she's beaming now. "You remember him?"

Renjun shrugs. "Kind of. His name came to mind. Um," he hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other, "I don't know. Do you… do you think it's a good idea?"

His parents share a glance. His mother leaves the plates by the sink and walks closer, thinking hard before she answers, "We could ask the doctor. I think it would be nice, if he could come over next week, have dinner with us. Just the four of us."

"Yukhei can be loud," his father warns him playfully, "but I think it would be good for you."

"Alright," Renjun says quietly, "alright, we can do it. If the doctor says it's okay."

The rest of the morning passes quickly. After watching the morning news with his father, who makes small comments that make Renjun crack a smile, Renjun goes back to his room and rummages through what appear to be his belongings: a cardboard box shoved at the back of his closet full of baseball collection cards; a lot of Star Wars toys and memorabilia, which for some strange reason makes him smile; children's books on space and dinosaurs; a rather well-done model of the Solar System sitting on the top shelf; a stationary box filled with pens, markers, and colours that has Renjun's hand itching to pick them up; and a last box, heavier than the rest, with photo albums. He can't bring himself to look through those.

(He thinks of August. Running around a wide expanse of grass. Sun-kissed skin and salt water on his lips. Summer air.)

The clock strikes half past eleven and Renjun can't take it anymore. He's eager to leave the apartment, to go for a walk, and he barely shouts something at his parents before bolting out the front door without waiting for a response. He takes the stairs two at a time and then he's on the sidewalk. The morning sun beats down on his back as he takes a left.

There's nowhere specific in his mind. Renjun walks aimlessly for perhaps half an hour, peering through show windows at the merchandise. He feels a tug of recognition when he walks past the rundown movie theatre, but nothing else. He pointedly ignores the occasional whispered conversation from bystanders. It isn't an easy task, but Renjun has become something of an expert at ignoring his problems lately.

Nearing noon, Renjun stops under the shade of a tree to catch his breath. The bandage wrapped around his foot is starting to bother him, and he regrets walking so far with his sprained ankle. The doctor recommended he stayed in bed as much as he could, but Renjun wasn't counting on how boring it would be. 

His pocket is heavy with coins and a handful of bills he found on a wallet — technically his, according to the driver's license and library card with his face on them — and he makes the executive decision to spend some of it on the iced tea stand to the right. Maybe it'll improve his mood.

It's all good. The vendor accepts his crumpled bill with good grace and gives him his drink along with a bendy straw. Renjun drinks most of it in one go. It's sweet, he thinks, and the peachy flavour is welcomed. He dumps the empty cup on a nearby trashcan and, as he turns to go back to their apartment, he comes face to face with Na Jaemin.

Memories of last night crash down. The nightmare — the tent, the kids, the fear, the hunger, — and the knowledge that it wasn't just a dream. He was remembering, in spite of something else doing its very best to keep him from doing so. His stomach drops down a pit, never to be seen again.

Jaemin appears just as shell shocked as Renjun feels, staring in surprise for a full ten seconds before he says, "You came. I didn't think you would." 

"I did," Renjun admits. He knows it's true. All this time, he walked around, not realising he was headed right in the direction of the square. "You said to promise, and I did, so… here I am."

A tiny smile blooms on Jaemin's face. "Great. Um, I'm sorry about last night," he scratches the back of his neck, "I'm sure you would've preferred to see that on your own."

_Not really_ , Renjun thinks. _You being there made it easier to deal with it._

"It's okay," is what he says. "You probably didn't have any say in it, anyway."

"Not in the slightest," Jaemin confirms. He sounds too cheerful for the topic at hand.

Renjun nods. His eyes catch on what Jaemin is wearing and he means to ask about the awful bucket hat paired with the clearly expensive pants, but Jaemin's attention is on something else by the time Renjun works up the courage.

Jaemin's eyes snap to the side, surprise giving way to recognition, and Renjun follows his gaze to see Lee Donghyuck in all his glory. He's standing perhaps fifteen feet away from them, just as flabbergasted as them, and he approaches them with hesitancy. If Renjun isn't mistaken, his sweater is on backward. His hair sticks out, effectively completing the _I woke up five minutes ago_ look.

"Hey," Donghyuck nods. "Fancy seeing you here." He doesn't sound entirely happy, but Renjun doesn't point that out.

"How did you know to come here?" Renjun cuts to the chase. This isn't a coincidence, after all, and they're aware of it.

Donghyuck shrugs. "I don't know. I just woke up and decided to come down here. And you?"

Renjun snaps his mouth shut. He can't very well say _Jaemin came to me in a dream and told me to meet him at the square_ , because that's the sort of thing that could land him wearing a straitjacket for the rest of his life. 

Thankfully, Jaemin steps in for him. Unfortunately, what he says falls under the same category as Renjun's previous statement. 

"I told him to meet me here last night during his dream," Jaemin says nonchalantly, as if it's nothing.

Renjun expects Donghyuck to have some sort of adverse reaction to the news. Instead, Donghyuck nods in understanding and says, "I figured that's what you meant last night."

"Is anyone going to explain to me what's going on?" Renjun crosses his arms, more than a little exasperated. He can guess that Jaemin visited (invaded?) Donghyuck's dreams as well, and he wonders what Donghyuck might have been dreaming about. 

"We'd like to know, too."

Lee Jeno and Liu Yangyang, in the flesh. They're wearing borrowed clothes, and Renjun can tell because the shirts are too big on both of them. Renjun suppresses a groan of annoyance — nothing against them, no, he's sure they're lovely — and sighs. This is starting to feel like the worst high school reunion ever. 

"Maybe this isn't the best place to have this discussion," Jaemin says, instead of answering Renjun's question. Renjun doesn't understand what he means until he looks around, and _oh_. People are staring at them, quite openly, in fact. Didn't anyone tell them that eavesdropping is rude? 

Jeno, seeing the same thing as Renjun, suggests, "We could go over there."

He's pointing to a quaint diner down the block. Renjun can't see much of it from afar, other than the space-themed decorations on the façade. A few patrons walk out, and Renjun can glimpse some occupied tables through the vitrine. They're too far to discern anything else, though. 

"Do you know that place?" Jaemin asks. Renjun isn't sure, but he thinks he's heard someone say that Jaemin, unlike the rest of them, didn't live in town most of the time. He makes a mental note to ask his parents about it. "We kinda need to have a serious conversation and I don't know if it's public appropriate."

Yangyang looks at him, lazy grin on his face. "You make it sound so awful," he teases, "when it's just a nice, friendly chat among friends, right?"

Donghyuck smirks. He claps Yangyang on the back and says, "I like him." Yangyang beams at that. 

"So?" Jeno urges. "Should we go over there or not? It's too hot to be standing around and I could use a drink."

"I could use about ten coffees," Jaemin grumbles. Louder, he says, "Yeah, sure, whatever. Let's go."

Renjun thinks grumpy Jaemin is cute, and keeps that to himself. Yangyang seems to be on the same line of thought, chuckling to himself before falling into step next to Jeno.

"Is that a face tattoo?" Yangyang exclaims.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: **vomiting, panic attacks, blood, mention of past kidnapping**

Moonshine Diner has a special summer menu consisting of icy milkshakes and coffees. Yangyang scans the glossy pages, looking at the costs of the small smoothies, and pointedly ignores everyone else around him. It isn't until they've placed their orders to the friendly waitress that they acknowledge the elephant in the room. 

"How much do we remember?" Jaemin asks. He meets eyes with Renjun for a second before looking away. 

Yangyang shifts uncomfortably. They're sitting on the farthest booth in the establishment, tucked away in a corner next to a wall full of newspaper cutouts and old photographs, but he still feels exposed. Like any second now, someone will jump out from behind the jukebox on the other side of the room and… he doesn't know what, honestly. He just knows he doesn't feel safe. Then again, he hasn't felt safe since he woke up at the beach on Wednesday.

At least, he doesn't seem to be the only one feeling this way. Renjun, sitting across from him, fixes his eyes on the shiny cutlery on the table. Jeno's looking at the spaceships painted on the ceiling above them. Donghyuck coughs behind his hand and stays quiet. 

Jaemin, sitting next to Yangyang, sighs. "Fine, I'll start. I remembered the night of the storm," he says. All eyes snap to him, and he's obviously uncomfortable with the attention, so Yangyang examines the pastries section of the menu instead. "There was a power out. I went to the shed to see if it was something with the breakers, and they got me."

"They?" Renjun cocks an eyebrow. Beneath the incredulity, there's fear. 

"I can't explain it," Jaemin shrugs. "It was a person, but… it looked like a monster from a shitty horror movie. I mean, their body, their face, all was human, but their features," he shudders. They wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't.

"Is that all?" Yangyang asks, as gently as he can. 

A beat, then Jaemin shakes his head. "No. I saw your dreams, so I know some of the things you remember, but I'm also starting to remember things from my childhood and — and from the past year, so I'm guessing so do you."

"Yeah," Jeno says. Yangyang watches him rub a hand down his face, tension lining his shoulders. His hoodie is too large for his frame. "It comes and goes, but I remember my parents. And the foster homes, the families there."

"I don't," Yangyang murmurs, "remember my parents, I mean. But I remember Renjun's mom."

"My mom?" Renjun blurts out. It's the loudest he's spoken since they sat down.

Yangyang nods. "Hmm. I used to go to your parents' bakery and she always gave me free samples. She was really nice to me."

Silence. Yangyang peels off the label on the ketchup bottle while Renjun gapes, until Donghyuck clears his throat.

"When did your memories start coming back?" Donghyuck asks. Bless his soul, he changes the subject.

Jaemin, perhaps sensing Yangyang isn't ready to talk again, says, "For me, it was after meeting you all at the police station."

"Me, too," Jeno scratches his chin. Renjun murmurs his agreement.

Their conversation lulls momentarily as the waitress delivers their drinks. Yangyang cups his strawberry smoothie between his hands and takes a large sip, eager for an excuse to stay mum. The bell over the door rings and in comes a family of four, the father herding the children to a table while the mother goes to the counter.

Once the waitress is gone, Donghyuck says, "I didn't remember at the same time. It started this morning, when I woke up. I suddenly remembered some things, but they aren't… relevant, I guess. Things like my tenth birthday party and some stupid trip to the city with my cousins." 

"Mine didn't come on their own," Yangyang says quietly. "They were, uh, triggered? I guess?"

"What do you mean?" Jeno asks.

Yangyang smacks his lips. "Well, I went down to the kitchen when I woke up and Han Dong — she and her husband are letting me stay with them — she was gutting a fish. And, I don't know if it was the knife, or the guts, or the blood, but."

"You freaked out?" Donghyuck asks.

That's an understatement. Yangyang ran into the bathroom, threw up, and then cried for a full hour. He could hear Kun and Han Dong asking him what was wrong, but he couldn't bring himself to open the door. He doesn't say that, though. He just nods and leaves it at that.

"What about the dreams?" Jeno asks. "What did you guys dream about?"

One by one, they share their memories. Yangyang can't tell if it's the draft of the air conditioner or what, but he feels as if someone's breathing down his neck. Jeno stutters through his whole retelling, and afterwards he sips on his cherry Coke with a troubled expression while the others stare at him, horrified. Yangyang goes last, tired of this conversation already. He kind of wants to go back to Han Dong's, take a nap, and never think about this situation again.

"How did you know to come here?" Jaemin asks. He nods in Renjun's direction, "I told him to meet me at the square when his dream was coming to an end, but I didn't say it to the rest of you."

"What, we're interrupting your date or something?" Donghyuck snarks.

Jaemin sends him a reproachful look. Yangyang continues to drink his smoothie. 

"No," Jaemin stresses, "But I think it's weird that you knew where to go and when to go."

"It was like the other day," Yangyang answers. His voice goes quieter. "When we woke up, we all knew to go to the circus. Except I wasn't scared this time."

Jeno makes a sound of assent. "Yeah, I was… I was actually kind of excited, walking here."

So was Yangyang. After he got dressed and walked out the door, his stomach filled with fluttering nerves. Good nerves. Donghyuck murmurs something that might be an agreement, and the topic is settled.

Before the silence can stretch any further, Jaemin speaks. "I think… I _know_ the circus did this to us."

No one argues that. After hearing about their convenient timing, the tents in which they were kept, and the fact they were lured to the circus upon awakening, it would be stranger if the circus _didn't_ have something to do with it. 

"And, I think we have to do something about it."

"Something about what?" Jeno asks. 

Jaemin offers him an unimpressed look. "About the circus, Jeno. It can't be a coincidence that they came back here right on the anniversary. They did something to us, who knows what they'll do this time?"

"How do you know they'll do anything? Maybe they let us go." Even as he says it, Donghyuck clearly doesn't buy it himself, in the way his words trail off at the end of his sentence.

"Judging by what I saw last night, we shouldn't even be alive right now," Jaemin says bluntly. "I don't know how, but we escaped. I don't know why they haven't come after us, either."

Yangyang snort, the absurdity of the situation and the irrational fear coursing through this bloodstream making him feel light-headed. "Maybe they're biding their time. Maybe they're waiting for us to let our guards down and then, _bam_!" He slaps the table, making them all jump, "They come at us in the middle of the night."

"This isn't funny," Donghyuck hisses at him.

"I never said it was," Yangyang shoots back. 

"Please, don't argue," Jeno says. "I'm getting a headache."

There are people staring at them. Probably thanks to Yangyang's outburst; he offers the other patrons a tight-lipped smile and returns his attention to the table.

Jaemin's drawing sad faces on the condensation from his drink. Donghyuck leans back on the leather cushion and taps his fingers on the table, asking, "Fine, what do you suggest we do, then? Tell the police? They'll never believe us."

"Why wouldn't they?" Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck's eyebrows damn near reach his hairline. "Are you kidding me? What kind of cop is gonna believe a bunch of amnesiac, traumatized kids when they say a circus kidnapped and performed weird experiments on them?"

"I don't think those were experiments," Jeno points out quietly. Donghyuck waves him off. 

When Jaemin doesn't have anything to say, Donghyuck grunts, "Exactly. We can't go to the police."

"We could do it on our own," Yangyang suggests. He can't believe he's considering this, Jesus Christ. "We escaped somehow, right?"

"We're just kids," Jeno counters. "I don't know what the hell we did to get away the first time, but there's nothing we can do now."

Jaemin looks at him incredulously. "Do I need to remind you that I literally traveled to your dreams last night? That's not something ordinary kids — or adults — can do. Also, Yangyang healed you during Donghyuck's dream. I saw it."

"Great," sarcasm drips from Donghyuck's voice, "That'll be of great help. The rest of us aren't so lucky, what are we gonna do?"

"Haven't you noticed that everything on the table has moved to your side?"

Donghyuck looks at Yangyang in bewilderment. Yangyang points his index finger at the salt and sugar shakers, three of their drinks, and the cutlery, all positioned in front of Donghyuck. Jeno curses loudly when he sees it. 

"You haven't moved," Yangyang continues, his excitement seeping into his voice, "and the rest of us haven't done it, either. I noticed it when you got mad at me, the salt shaker just… slipped across the table toward you."

"Holy fuck," Jaemin gasps. He grabs his iced coffee, which had been one of the three to move, and cradles it protectively in his hold. "That's so cool, what the fuck?"

Donghyuck gapes at the table in front of him. He nods, slowly, and says, "Alright. I guess I can do stuff, as well. But what about them?" He points his thumbs at the boys sitting on either side of him.

Yangyang shrugs. "I don't know. But I'll take a wild guess and say they can probably do things, too. It can't be a coincidence."

Jeno's frowning hard at his cherry Coke. Renjun hasn't even spoken in the past twenty minutes, staring intently at a spot on the ground. Yangyang hasn't asked what's wrong with him out of fear Renjun will snap his head off.

"I'm in, then," Donghyuck shrugs. 

"Just like that?" Jaemin sputters.

Again, Donghyuck shrugs, nibbling on the plastic straw of his milkshake. Jeno nods, seemingly emboldened by Donghyuck's decision, and murmurs, "Ditto."

Jaemin turns hopeful eyes to Renjun. "And you? What do you think?"

"I think you're insane." Renjun doesn't look at them while he speaks. "What do you think you're gonna do? March in there and demand for an apology? Ask the circus to compensate us for the damage?"

Jeno tries to interrupt him, but Renjun powers on, "It's ridiculous. We have literal scars on our bodies that the doctors can't explain that _they_ caused and you still want to go after them? You're gonna get yourselves killed. I'm not doing this."

Renjun throws a wrinkled bill on the table and limps away, out of the diner and gone before they can blink. The rest of them sit in befuddled silence.

Yangyang stands up first, digging through his pockets while saying, "I'll talk to him. He can't have gone too far, not with that ankle. Do you have a pen?" He asks the passing-by waitress. When she hands over her pen, he scribbles down his new phone number on a napkin. Thankfully, Kun made him memorise it before he gave him the phone. "This is my number. You guys should go someplace else and talk about this. Text me the address and I'll drag Renjun with me."

"We can't force him to do anything," Jeno says, reaching for the napkin.

"No, but we can talk some sense into him," Yangyang says. He gives the pen back to the girl and waits for her to be out of ear range. "He's scared, we all are. But I have a feeling we won't be able to do shit without him."

* * *

Per Donghyuck's suggestion, they pay what's left of the bill and leave for his house. Jeno apologises to the waitress for the troubles they caused, namely the table slapping and then Renjun storming out. She tries to deny it, but they know the other customers were staring and mumbling among themselves.

"I live around three blocks from here," Donghyuck says outside the diner. "But it's kinda hot out, so we should hurry or else we'll die of heatstroke."

"We won't die of heatstroke," Jaemin rolls his eyes, "it's literally twenty-eight Celcius. You can't die of heatstroke like that." He pronounces twenty-eight like two separate numbers, twenty and then eight, the T's perfectly enunciated.

"What do you know?" Donghyuck challenges. "Maybe we'll be the first ones, and parents will use our story to warn their kids: don't walk three blocks while it's twenty-eight degrees out, or you'll end up like those three boys." Unlike Jaemin, Donghyuck says twenty-eight all in one breath, swallowing the T in order to get to the eight right away. 

Jaemin rolls his eyes again and drops the subject. The rest of the walk passes in silence, with Donghyuck muttering directions like, "Turn left," or "We have to cross the street at the corner," and nothing else.

Jeno doesn't particularly mind the silence, even when it stretches beyond normal as Donghyuck stops mumbling to them. His only discomfort is that the afternoon sun is torture on him. He regrets wearing the hoodie, now, but it was all he had clean in the morning. Johnny said they would go buy him new clothes this weekend, since he had days off coming soon.

They turn the corner and enter a quiet neighborhood. Two-story houses with prim front lawns and cars parked outside garages, a few kids playing basketball in someone's front yard. It's similar to Johnny's neighborhood, except this one seems to be more family orientated. Johnny's area features one story homes and bungalows. So far Jeno has met his neighbours across the street — an elderly couple — and the single mom that lives next door.

Donghyuck leads them to a cul-de-sac house. Like the others, this house's grass is cut neatly, and the garage door is open a tad. A myriad of bicycles lie on the pavement, and a soccer ball is discarded by the front door. Upon walking closer, they can hear children shouting inside. 

Donghyuck curses under his breath and turns to look at them, "Look, my… my family can be overwhelming," he gulps, "so I'll try to sneak us upstairs before they notice us."

Both nod. Donghyuck nods back, more to reassure himself than them, and digs around his pockets for a second before he produces a keychain. 

As promised, Donghyuck rushes up the stairs as soon as he gets the door open, and Jeno and Jaemin follow him as quietly as they can. They're almost caught by a little girl, but Donghyuck shoves them into his room and shuts the door before she sees them.

Jeno glances around the room. It's very Donghyuck, in a way. The desk is cluttered, but organised, and the bed is only halfway made, as if Donghyuck couldn't be bothered to do it properly. 

"Sit wherever you want," Donghyuck says, kicking his shoes off before crawling up his bed and sitting with his back against the headboard. Jeno plops down on the desk chair, and Jaemin sits on the edge of Donghyuck's bed.

"I see your parents kept your room the same," Jaemin observes. 

Donghyuck shrugs. "I guess. There's dust everywhere, though."

"I," Jaemin sighs, "am convinced they threw out my things. I find it hard to believe that my room was that boring."

"You really think they did that?" Jeno asks. "That they threw your stuff away?"

Jaemin looks conflicted for a second. "I honestly don't know."

Jeno spins his chair, glancing around the room. The room feels distinctly Donghyuck in a way Jeno can't pinpoint: music posters, star constellations in the ceiling, everything in its place without the room looking like it's out of a magazine. 

"Have you guys—"

Jaemin and Jeno look at him. Donghyuck chews on his bottom lip, debating with himself. Jeno tears his eyes away and refocuses on the decorations on the wall. 

"Don't you feel like you're intruding in their lives?" Donghyuck blurts out. "Like, like you're not supposed to be here?"

"Yeah," Jaemin sighs, flopping back on the bed. "I don't think it was any different before, either."

"Johnny said my last foster parents donated my things to GoodWill two weeks after our disappearance."

"Well, that's depressing," Donghyuck snorts. "They sound like assholes."

Jeno tilts his head. "Yeah, kinda. I guess it's a good thing Johnny took me in instead of them."

"Oh, my God," Jaemin blurts out. "I can roller skate."

Donghyuck wheezes. "Seriously? Roller skate?"

"Were you any good?" Jeno asks.

Jaemin shakes his head. "I didn't see any trophies for that at home, so I guess not."

"That doesn't mean anything, maybe you never competed," Donghyuck says.

"Donghyuck, there are trophies, medals, and diplomas for anything you could think of all over my bedroom. I think competing was my only personality trait back then."

Donghyuck sends Jeno a look of exasperation over Jaemin's head. "Well, that's too bad. I bet you were good, though."

"I think I can shoot an arrow," Jeno frowns. 

"Shoot an arrow?" Jaemin parrots. Jeno nods. "How? What makes you think that?"

"I vaguely remember taking archery lessons, years ago." Jeno thinks about it for a second, and yes, he can definitely shoot an arrow. "I'm pretty sure my foster family of the time just wanted an excuse to get me out of the house, though."

Jaemin frowns. "To quote Donghyuck, they sound like assholes."

"What about you, Hyuck?" Jeno pretends like the nickname was on purpose and not a slip of the tongue. "What kind of special, obscure talent did you have?"

"I played soccer," Donghyuck says, "And apparently I also did acting. And dancing."

Jaemin side eyes him. "Sounds like you had more extracurriculars than me. How?"

Something catches Jeno's eyes. He rises abruptly from the desk and peers closer to a picture on Donghyuck's bedside table, ignoring Jaemin's questions of, "Are you okay? Is it the concussion?"

He also ignores Donghyuck's, "He doesn't have a concussion. You have a concussion. He has a sliced hand." 

"Who's this in the picture with you?" Jeno asks Donghyuck.

Donghyuck leans over the bed and grabs the picture frame, looking at it for a second before answering, "That's Mark. My best friend, according to everyone. Including my phone."

"What's his last name?" Jeno pushes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Can you, please, answer the question?" 

"Sheesh, fine. His full name is Mark Suh. Why?"

Jeno grabs the frame again and takes a second glance. He's older in this photo, but he's wearing the same thin-wired glasses he has in the photo above Johnny's mantel, and his jawline is hard to miss. 

"This," Jeno taps on the glass, "is Johnny's younger brother. I'm staying in his room at Johnny's house."

"Okay," Jaemin says, slowly rising from the bed as well. He and Donghyuck sit shoulder to shoulder and wear equally bewildered expressions. "That's an incredible coincidence?"

"Except it isn't!" Jeno exclaims. "Think about it: what are the odds that Donghyuck's best friend would be the brother of the detective that takes me in after we come back? Especially with everything that's been happening?"

"You gotta admit," Donghyuck licks his lips, nodding, "It's a bit weird. Like, the biggest coincidence ever."

Jeno puts the picture back where it belongs. Mark and Donghyuck seem to be around sixteen years old in it, and Donghyuck is dressed in a tweed jacket and pants, round glasses perched on his nose. Mark wears a hoodie and jeans, and Jeno thinks they must be posing in front of a stage. He didn't know Donghyuck was a theater boy.

"Not really," Jaemin says. "Coincidences don't exist, mathematically speaking. Considering how many detectives there are in town, and how Johnny was familiar with Jeno since before the storm, it makes sense."

"Ugh, shut up, nerd," Donghyuck groans. "It's fate, that's it."

"Why would it be fate?" Jaemin asks, looking at Donghyuck like he's crazy. "What does fate have to do with any of this?"

Donghyuck stares at Jaemin. "Are you kidding me? So, it's all numbers that us five disappeared that night, returned at the same time, went to the same place, that we all knew to go to the square this morning? It's all numbers that Jeno's living with Johnny? It's all numbers that I can attract things with my mind or that you can literally travel to our dreams?"

Jeno sits down again and lets them argue for five minutes, during which he snoops around Donghyuck's room. Donghyuck's room is an organised mess, except for the closet, which seems three seconds away from exploding. There are crumpled up sticky notes on the waste basket and his desk is clear save for a turned off laptop.

He only steps in when they begin to raise their voices, and mostly because Donghyuck obviously didn't want his relatives to know they were in his room. It's a miracle no one has heard them, yet.

"Alright, kids, stop fighting." Jeno physically steps in, climbing on the bed and elbowing his way to the middle. "We'll just agree to disagree."

"Fine," Jaemin purses his lips. "We're supposed to be figuring out a plan, anyway."

"Right. Full disclosure: I have no idea what we're supposed to do," Donghyuck groans. He leans his full weight against Jeno's shoulder, and he's being overdramatic, but Jeno doesn't mind. 

"We could ask Johnny for help." Jeno's voice wavers at the start of the sentence. 

Jaemin eyes Jeno, a slow grin forming on his face. Thankfully, he doesn't mention the blush steadily climbing up Jeno's neck. "I suppose that's a good idea. But how can we convince him that we're not crazy?"

"All five of us can't be crazy," Donghyuck points out. 

"We could be," Jaemin says. "It's a thing. Joint hallucinations. We have the same trauma."

Jeno can't see Donghyuck, but he's certain he just rolled his eyes. "Not everyone speaks in academic all the time, Jaemin."

Jaemin's jaw tightens, a retort at the tip of his tongue. Jeno guesses this is a good time to step in again. "We can prove it. Donghyuck could do that thing he did at the diner."

"I wonder what you and Renjun can do," Donghyuck muses. Jeno has been wondering that same thing since they left the diner. 

Jaemin makes a sound of agreement. "Alright. We go to Detective Suh and we tell him everything. Except." Donghyuck peers around Jeno, chin still hooked on his shoulder. His hair tickles Jeno's chin. "What if there's nothing he can do? Or it doesn't work?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," Jeno decides. 

Donghyuck bolts upright, detaching from Jeno. Jeno tells himself he doesn't miss his warmth. "Mark can help."

"Do you think he'll believe us?" Jaemin asks. 

"Not just that," Donghyuck says. He sounds excited. "I remember he used to make me watch all these dumb true crime shows and documentaries. He wanted to be a detective like his brother."

"What a first case for an amateur detective," Jaemin drawls. Donghyuck throws a tiny stuffed bear at his face. It bounces off and lands on Jaemin's lap, who makes a cooing sound and starts playing with its ears.

"I'm serious," Donghyuck insists. "Mark can help, I know it."

"Okay. Ask him to meet us at his brother's," Jeno says. Donghyuck fishes for his phone immediately. "Jaemin, can I use your phone? I'll send Yangyang the address so he and Renjun can meet us there."

They trample downstairs, very narrowly missing barrelling into a five year old boy. Donghyuck shouts over his shoulder about meeting Mark, and Jeno hears his mother ask something along the lines of, "Donghyuck? When did you get home? Are you leaving already?"

* * *

"I can't believe you _dragged_ me all the way here."

Yangyang shoots Renjun a megawatt smile. He's still holding onto Renjun's wrist as he leads him down the street. Renjun huffs and rolls his eyes. He gave up arguing with Yangyang approximately an hour and a half ago, after Yangyang chased him all the way to his apartment complex and refused to go away until Renjun heard him out. It certainly caused enough of a commotion with Renjun's neighbours that an old woman threatened to hit them with her cane if they didn't dial it down.

Speaking of commotion: "I also can't believe you broke into my apartment building and yelled in the hallways," Renjun adds.

"I didn't break into your building," Yangyang says, matter-of-factly. "I walked in after you, like a normal person."

"Yeah, and then proceeded to scream at me." 

"Whatever," Yangyang flaps his free hand in Renjun's direction, "We're here already."

Renjun sighs and looks at the house. "Is this Detective Suh's place?"

"Yup." Yangyang pops the p. "Come on, they must be waiting for us."

"You can let me go, you know?" 

Yangyang looks at him over his shoulder. "I'm not letting go until we're inside. You're a flight risk."

"Do I look like a damn criminal to you?" Renjun snaps.

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Yangyang rings the doorbell. They wait less than a minute before Jaemin opens the door, his previously cheery disposition gone, and replaced with a deep frown.

"What's wrong? Does he not believe us?" Yangyang asks. As promised, he lets go of Renjun's wrist when they're standing in Detective Suh's mud room. 

Jaemin rubs a hand down the side of his face, sighing. "He wants to believe us. But Donghyuck hasn't been able to show him what he can do, and I don't know how much longer we can keep his interest."

Renjun walks past the two of them and into the living room. It's strange, to see Detective Suh in sweatpants and an old sweatshirt, sitting on his couch and staring at Donghyuck with concerned eyes. There is an empty beer can on the coffee table and a lone cigarette butt on the ashtray.

Donghyuck sits on the ground, glaring at his hands as if they personally offended him. Apart from the beer and the tray, an array of small objects lies on the table: a pen, a pencil sharpener, a tiny penguin figurine, and a handful of paper clips. 

In the corner of the living room, Jeno paces back and forth, his nerves radiating off of him in waves. He halts in his steps when he sees Renjun approach them, Yangyang on his heels. 

"You made it," he says to Yangyang, but his eyes linger on Renjun, blinking owlishly.

"Shut up," Renjun sighs. "How's it going?"

"We told him about the dreams," Jeno fills him in, "And about our conversation at the diner. How we seem to be remembering more the more we talk about it. Now we're hoping to prove it to him, but…"

"I can't do it," Donghyuck grumbles. "I don't understand, I wasn't even trying back at the diner."

Renjun plops on the ground next to him. "Maybe that's it. You weren't trying, maybe it worked because you were upset." 

Donghyuck groans. "So, what? I won't be able to do anything unless I'm under stress?"

"Donghyuck," the detective says, careful, as if speaking to a cornered animal, "would you like some water? You don't look too well."

"I'm fine," Donghyuck snaps. "I'm not crazy."

" _We_ are not crazy," Jeno adds gently. Detective Suh looks at him, then back at Donghyuck. He seems to resign himself to an afternoon of dealing with traumatised kids and leans against the couch's backrest. 

Renjun considers opening his mouth and telling them about what happened back at the diner. It could help with convincing the detective, for starters. It would also lessen the rock weighing down his chest. 

However, one look around the room and Renjun decides he can't. He can't bring himself to think about what he knows, much less say it.

As if struck with lightning, Yangyang jumps. "I can prove it!" 

Without waiting for anyone to respond, Yangyang races to the kitchen and returns, seconds later, with a large knife in hand.

Detective Suh is on his feet in a second, hands held in front of him as if it'll make the knife disappear from his hand.

"Yangyang," the detective says slowly, "What do you think you're doing with that knife?"

"Proving to you that we're not crazy!" Yangyang isn't exactly making the best case for any of them, with his wide smile and the knife he's wielding. Renjun resists the urge to facepalm.

"The knife isn't helping," Jaemin points out. 

Yangyang disregards him entirely. "Look," he slices the knife across his palm, stray drops of blood hitting the ground. 

Renjun directs his gaze elsewhere, the sight of blood making him feel woozy. Detective Suh stares at the wound on his palm, at the blood dripping down to his carpet, and says faintly, "I'll go get the first aid kit."

He hasn't stepped out of the living room when Yangyang calls out, "Wait! Detective, come look at this!"

Renjun looks up. Detective Suh walks toward him, perhaps a little warily, and Yangyang holds his palm out with an excited little grin. 

"See? It's gone!"

That catches everyone's attention. Donghyuck and Renjun stand up, following Jeno to where Yangyang is standing by the kitchen door. His hand is still bloodied, but the cut is gone. The only indication that he ever used that knife is the thin, pink scar running across his palm.

Jaemin gapes at Yangyang's palm. He grabs the hand in his own and brings it closer to his face, mouth agape, and Yangyang fidgets nervously for a second before pulling his hand away. Renjun is sure Detective Suh doesn't blink for a full minute.

"Uh, sir?" Renjun says, touching the detective's arm. He doesn't even flinch. "Are you okay?"

"Yangyang, I think you killed him," Jeno says.

In that moment, Mark Suh knocks on the door. While Donghyuck goes to let him in, Renjun and Jaemin guide Detective Suh to the couch, helping him sit down while he continues to gape. The man hasn't said a word yet, and Renjun is growing more and more concerned as the minutes pass.

"What's going on?" 

Mark doesn't look much like his brother, if Renjun thinks about it. Physically speaking, at least. Mark is shorter, his eyes are wider, and his cheekbones are more defined, but they wear the same expression while Donghyuck tries to explain the situation to him: bewildered, concerned, a little scared toward the end. 

Renjun doesn't speak while Donghyuck, accompanied by Jaemin and occasionally Yangyang, tells Mark about everything that has happened in the past 24 hours. He doesn't think eyebrows are meant to climb so high on someone's forehead, and yet here is Mark, defying gravity. Renjun busies himself with force-feeding water to Detective Suh, Jeno mopping up the blood Yangyang dripped all over the floor — he makes the youngest clean it himself the second time around. 

The brothers sit side to side on the couch, equally shocked. Renjun makes sure they're still breathing properly. 

"We broke them." Yangyang throws his body down on the spare recliner and stretches, every bit a lazy cat. "I hope we have a Plan B."

"We don't even have a Plan A," Donghyuck grumbles. He plops down next to Yangyang, shoving him to the side to make room for himself. "This was barely a plan."

Jeno disappears into the kitchen. Jaemin sits next to Renjun, groaning. When Jeno returns, he has a bag of chips in hand. He shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, and says, "We just have to wait."

And wait they do. Renjun eats a few chips, stares at the ceiling, ignores Donghyuck and Yangyang's bickering, and asks himself what the hell he's doing here.

_This is never going to work._

Detective Suh and his brother haven't said anything in too long. They've done nothing but stare off into space, sometimes looking at Yangyang or Donghyuck, most of the time looking at nothing at all. 

"This was a bad idea," Renjun murmurs.

Donghyuck lifts his head and sends him a scathing look. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"With me?" Renjun scoffs. "I told you earlier, there's nothing we can do about this."

Yangyang frowns. "You don't know that."

"Yes, I do, in fact, know that." Renjun regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth.

Jeno stops munching on his chips. "Renjun. Is there something you're not telling us?"

Renjun bites his lip. _God dammit_. He should have kept his mouth shut.

"Renjun, what aren't you telling us?" Jeno insists. Jaemin doesn't speak, but Renjun can feel him staring into the side of his head.

Donghyuck moves, stands in front of Renjun with his hands on his hips, and Renjun isn't the type to cower, but right now? He feels tiny. 

"Renjun, what the hell are you keeping from us?"

"Nothing," Renjun bites out. _Shut up, Renjun._

"Bullshit. What the fuck is going on?"

Renjun averts his gaze, but Donghyuck chases him, getting into his space. And no matter where he looks, he's met with pairs of eyes. If Renjun didn't know any better, he would think they already know.

"So?" Donghyuck demands. "Are you gonna tell us?"

Yangyang huffs in exasperation. "Come on, man, just spit it out."

"Why are you so against we do this?" Jeno asks.

"Renjun," Jaemin says slowly. "What do you know?"

"I know it's not going to work," Renjun snaps. He cringes inwardly before he continues, "I've seen it." 

"What do you mean, you've seen it?" Donghyuck parrots. 

Renjun groans. "I mean exactly that: I have seen how this goes, and it doesn't work."

Yangyang sits up. "I know you think you're making sense, but you're not."

"A little explanation would be nice," Jeno adds.

Renjun buries his face in his knees. "I guess you could say, I can… see the future." His statement is met with crickets. "And, while we were at the diner, and you guys started talking about doing something about this, and confronting them, I saw how it goes."

"And?" Donghyuck says. He doesn't sound as imposing as before. 

"It doesn't work." Renjun doesn't look at any of them in the eyes. "It goes badly. That's all you need to know."

Donghyuck examines him. Renjun knows Donghyuck knows he's not telling the whole story, but Renjun meant it: they don't need to know anything else. They don't need to know about the blood, or the screaming. Or the fire.

"Well," Donghyuck says, "not to sound like our pal Jaemin, here, but fate doesn't have anything to do with this."

"What?" Renjun exclaims. 

Donghyuck ignores him. "I don't care what you saw. It's not stopping us, or at least not me."

"Me, neither," Yangyang echoes. Jeno and Jaemin agree.

"You don't know what you're saying," Renjun mumbles. "You didn't see what I saw."

"No, we didn't," Donghyuck says, much gentler. "Which is why we're not scared. I don't know what you saw, and I'll admit that I'm scared to ask, but… Renjun, I don't think we have a choice."

"Yes, we do," Renjun insists. "Please, Donghyuck, _listen_ to me. You don't want to go down this path." 

While horrible that they all seem ready to throw caution to the wind, Renjun thinks Donghyuck's determination is the worst part. He can't shake the image of Donghyuck's glassy eyes turning dull in front of him, and he's desperate to convince them to give up.

"Renjun, we believe you," Jeno tells him, big brown eyes boring into Renjun's."I know you're scared. So are we. But we can't just sweep this under the rug. We have to do something."

"Why us?" Renjun croaks. He didn't cry when he saw it, when he saw what would happen, but he feels close to crying now. 

"Because there's no one else to do it," Donghyuck says. 

Renjun wipes his nose with the back of his sleeve and looks away. "I'm not happy with this," he warns them, "And I'm not above saying 'I told you so'."

"And we won't hold it against you," Yangyang grins. 

"Does this mean you're in?" Donghyuck asks. 

"Yes, but… if things start to go wrong, I'm pulling the plug on this mess." That is to say, he'll bide his time, wait for the first disaster to strike, and he will put an end to this nonsense before it's too late. 

All four cheer excitedly. Renjun swallows past the knot in his throat and prays to whoever's out there that his vision was wrong.

"Oh, my God!" Mark blurts out. 

"Look who's back," Donghyuck rolls his eyes, but he crouches in front of his friend, anyway, a hand on Mark's knee for balance.

Mark ignores him. "Did I seriously just see that kid cut himself?"

"Yes," Donghyuck sighs. 

"And it healed on its own?" Mark asks.

"Yep," Yangyang grins, pride oozing off him. 

"Oh, my God," Detective Suh deadpans. 

Jeno laughs. "Good to see you back, man."

"God," Detective Suh repeats. It comes out strangled.

"Why do I think we'll be here a while?" Jaemin sighs. 

* * *

"This is a terrible idea," Mark declares.

Donghyuck meets eyes with Yangyang across the room. They audibly sigh, in unison.

Mark rolls his eyes. "Stop doing that. You've been doing that all afternoon, it's getting annoying."

"You're annoying," Donghyuck mumbles. Mark gears up to respond, but his brother interrupts their quarreling before it can escalate. 

"The delivery man is outside," Detective Suh — _Johnny_ , as he insists they call him, — says. "Why don't you go get the food, Mark?"

Mark does as he's told, grumbling as he goes. Jeno offers to go with him, since they ordered quite a bit of food.

Jaemin rubs his tummy absentmindedly. His mouth waters at the thought of food, since it took them hours before someone said they were hungry, and then they were arguing over takeout menus for half an hour before they settled on burgers. 

"I don't really think I can eat right now," Renjun says to him.

"I can," Jaemin chuckles. "I'm starving."

Renjun glances at him with a raised eyebrow. "Really? After all this, you're still hungry?"

Jaemin shrugs. He can't help it if talks of torture and blood don't quell his hunger. Even if the torture and the blood involved him — Jaemin thinks about it, and decides he should ask his mother for that psychiatrist's card, after all.

Mark and Detective Suh had come back to their senses, and immediately freaked out. Mark paced the house, from one end to another, and only sat down when Jeno manhandled him back to the couch. The detective didn't move from his spot, but he muttered a lot to himself — most of it was nonsensical. It was hysterical to watch, at least to Jaemin. He didn't think Detective Suh's eyes could go any wider, and yet they did.

However, once they calmed down, Jaemin remembered where they were and what they were doing.

"You said," the detective licked his lips, notepad in hand, "that your memories are coming back, correct?"

"Yes," Donghyuck nodded. The rest muttered their agreement. "The more we talk about it… the clearer it becomes."

"It's like it's a movie, in my head," Yangyang said, "but the film is in black and white, and it's a mute movie, and half of it is missing."

"Alright. Have you remembered anything else, since you got here?" 

They all shared a glance. Jaemin was the first to speak up, saying, "Yes, but I'm not sure I know what I saw."

"Walk us through it," Mark encouraged him. 

Jaemin hesitated. Not because he felt wary of telling them, but rather because he meant it when he said he wasn't sure what he saw. 

"I was inside one of those tents," Jaemin said, "alone. It was dark outside, so it must have been the middle of the night. The details are… strangely nitid?"

He heard Yangyang ask Renjun what _nitid_ meant. Renjun whispered back, and the living room was back to silence. He made a mental note to use less complicated words.

"What do you mean, nitid?" Detective Suh asked.

Jaemin shrugged. "If I think about it, I can hear the cicadas outside, as if they were here now. And I remember it was chilly, and the bottom of the tents were flapping in the wind."

Detective Suh jotted something down on his notepad, nodding along to everything Jaemin said. "Alright, and, did anything happen?"

"No," Jaemin shook his head. "Nothing. I was just sitting there. I think I was tied up? I'm not sure." With everyone's eyes on him, Jaemin couldn't remember much. 

"Okay, then. Anyone else?" Detective Suh asked. 

As it would turn out, they all had something new to share. Donghyuck told them he remembered staying awake most nights, keeping guard. 

"Did they not have a set schedule?" The detective frowned. 

"I can't tell," Donghyuck shook his head. "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be," Detective Suh reassured him. 

Renjun said he would know when they would come, and after a while he seemed to know who they could come for, so he could prepare them. 

"It was like a gut feeling, at first," Renjun explained. "It's how it's always been, now that I think about it."

"What changed?" Jeno asked.

"All of a sudden, I could see it. Their faces, their clothes, who they would take and where." Renjun shuddered, physically retreating into the couch cushions. 

Yangyang was hesitant to speak, but Renjun patted his thigh encouragingly and he confessed that he could see it in his head, the first time they fed from him.

"Are we sure that's the word we should use?" Mark asked, shifting awkwardly on his seat. 

"I honestly don't like it, either, but," Jaemin trailed off.

"Yangyang? Are you alright?" Renjun's voice brought Jaemin's attention back to Yangyang.

The boy had turned pale, but he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

"We can take a break," Jeno said, wide-eyed. Yangyang refused it, however.

"The faster, the better," Yangyang shook his head. 

Detective Suh watched him closely, then nodded. "Fine. Jeno, do you have anything to add?"

Jaemin could practically see the cogs turning in his head. Eventually, Jeno said, "I remembered their names. Jungwoo, Chenle and Jisung — they were the guys that helped us."

Jaemin stopped breathing. 

He's brought back to reality when a greasy bag of food falls on his lap. He looks up and finds Yangyang digging in already, and Mark passing around their orders. 

"Thanks," Jaemin mutters. 

Renjun stares at his burger with mild distaste. "I really don't know how you can be eating at a time like this."

"It's good," Yangyang shrugs. "And I'm hungry."

"I didn't even have lunch before going to meet with you," Jaemin adds.

Renjun considers Jaemin, then looks at his meal again. Jaemin stuffs his mouth with fries, watching Renjun pick up his veggie burger and take a careful bite.

"So," Donghyuck speaks with his mouth full, "What's the next plan? Our previous one worked, you can thank me later, but now what?"

"What previous one?" Yangyang laughs. "You said it yourself, that was hardly a plan."

"Yeah, but it was _my_ ‘hardly a plan’ and it worked."

"Hyuck, please swallow before you keep talking," Mark sighs. 

Donghyuck makes a show of swallowing his bite, then grins angelically at Mark.

"Not to point out the obvious," Jeno says, "We need to find out what they're going to do. I mean, they must be after something — why else would they come back?"

"We still don't know what Jeno can do," Donghyuck points out. 

"I don't know if I can control my thing," Jaemin adds.

Yangyang sips on his soda with a thoughtful look on his face. "You know? I think our... _gifts_ are what they were after."

"They wanted to steal them?" Mark asks.

"Nah, not like that," Yangyang shakes his head. "They have their own. It was different, I just can't put my finger on it."

"We'll figure it out," Jeno assures him.

Detective Suh balls up his napkins and throws them in the open bag. "Well, we seem to have many questions that need answers, and not enough time."

"Obviously," Mark snorts. His brother throws a dirty napkin at his face. 

"What I'm getting at is — we should split up."

Carefully stacking his used napkins, Jaemin cleans up the space around him and hums. "What did you have in mind, sir?"

"I told you to call me Johnny," Detective Suh says, "and I don't have all the details yet, but here's what I was thinking: I can dig around the station and see if there's anything on the circus or any of its members.

"Mark's good with computers, he can research on the Internet. Even if they've never been in Vrais before, they've been to other places."

"There must be a record of them somewhere," Renjun nods in understanding. 

"I can help with that," Jeno volunteers. 

"Excellent," Johnny beams. Jaemin thinks Johnny would be signing the adoption papers if Jeno were still a minor. "I was also thinking that Renjun and Donghyuck could ask the locals. By locals, I mean old people."

"Why them?" Renjun asks.

"Old people always have the best gossip, why should this be any different?" Donghyuck shrugs. "Alright, we can do that. Right, Injun?"

"Injun?" Renjun echoes. 

"It's a nickname. Why, does it bother you?"

"No, but —" 

"Then Injun it is!"

While Renjun fishes for something to say, Jaemin asks, "What about Yangyang and I?"

Detective Suh grins. "Jeno told me you were a scholar. You two can research your abilities."

"How?" Yangyang asks. 

"The library is always a good start," Mark suggests. "If you can't find anything at the public library, there is a bookstore downtown that specialises in the occult."

"Why not just go there in the first place?" 

"Don't underestimate the things you can find at a public library," Mark says sagely. 

Jeno raises his hand like a child in elementary school. "And, how does any of that help with my unknown powers?"

Donghyuck frowns pensively. "We can figure it out while we do the rest. Besides, one of us is bound to remember it soon."

"In the meantime, I suggest you guys," Johnny points to the others, "practice what you can do."

"We should really come up with a name for it," Yangyang mumbles.

"Gifts?"

"Superpowers?"

"Psychic abilities?"

"No," Renjun says firmly.

Jaemin has been thinking about it since he woke up. Not how to call their gifts, no, he doesn't think dwelling on a name will solve anything. Rather, he's been wondering how he can improve.

Something tells him he had a firm grip on his abilities before they escaped. Jaemin doesn't know if it's simply a hunch, or if he's idealising himself, but he thinks he had the most improvement in his abilities. 

If only he could figure it out now. 

"I wonder if Jaemin could spy on them through their dreams," Jeno muses. He has a smear of tomato sauce on the corner of his lips. 

Jaemin knows the answer to that, almost instinctively. "No," he denies, "I can only see dreams. Whether those dreams are memories or not… I don't think it matters much."

"Damn," Yangyang deflates. "That would've been cool."

Jaemin smiles. Yeah, it would have been. 

"Now that that's settled," Detective Suh stands up, picking up the trash around him. "Mark, help me clean up, will you?"

Mark grumbles something unintelligible and does. Once the brothers leave the room, the remaining five congregate in the middle of the living room.

Donghyuck's grin is contagious. "I told you this was a good idea."

"I still haven't heard any praise for bringing Renjun's sorry ass here," Yangyang rolls his eyes. Renjun squeaks indignantly. 

"You both did great," Jeno placates them, tapping Donghyuck's knee. Donghyuck's eyes linger on his hand, and Jaemin suppresses the urge to coo. Puppy love is cute, especially when they don't even realise it themselves.

"I'll be honest, I didn't think they'd be on board with any of this," Renjun says.

Donghyuck hums. "Well, now you know better than to doubt me."

Renjun's eyes roll to the back of his skull.

"We still don't have much of a plan," Yangyang says. Jaemin can practically feel the insecurity oozing out of him.

"Maybe, but we know what we're going to do for now. That's enough." Jeno doesn't sound as confident as his words. 

Detective Suh re-enters the living room, followed closely by Mark. "Alright, kids, it's getting late. If you want to sleep over, that's fine, but if not then I suggest you get going. I don't want any of you walking around at night by yourselves."

"I can drive some of you home," Mark says, spinning his car keys.

"Ugh, drive me," Donghyuck groans. "I don't want to walk all the way there."

Mark nods. "Sure. Anyone else?"

Jaemin notices Jeno's frown and decides to put him out of his misery. "If it isn't much trouble, I could use a lift, too."

"I'll take Renjun and Yangyang home," Detective Suh nods. However, Yangyang's downtrodden face stops him "Yangyang? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, totally, I just..." Yangyang falters. 

"Yangyang, is there a problem? Are Kun and Han Dong treating you well?"

"Yes, of course!" Yangyang seems scandalised that the detective would suggest otherwise. "I'm just worried that we'll be separated for too long. After last night's dream and with everything we know, and all that."

Jaemin's heart softens. Yangyang is genuinely concerned something will happen, and Jaemin wishes he could reassure him nothing will happen. 

Detective Suh nods in understanding. "If you want, you can stay the night. I'll call Kun and tell him you're here."

"You don't think he'll mind?" Yangyang asks hopefully.

"Not at all! You can crash with Jeno, right?"

"Totally."

While they settle the final details, Jaemin shuffles out of the house with Mark and Donghyuck. Mark's unlocking his car when Donghyuck suddenly grabs Jaemin's shirtsleeve and says, softly, "Am I crazy, or is that guy over there staring at us?"

It takes a second for Jaemin to understand what he means. He can't see anyone around them, until Donghyuck nudges him slightly to the left and, oh. There's a man, hidden among the shadows across the street. 

"He's definitely looking at us," Jaemin murmurs back. 

"Are you guys ready to go?" Mark asks. The car's engine rumbles. 

When Mark pulls out of the driveway, Jaemin tries to catch another glimpse of the man, to no avail. There's no trace of him anywhere on the street. 

* * *

Renjun's apartment building is nice, Donghyuck thinks. It has an inner garden, a pool, and his parents' bakery is right across the street. 

After exchanging numbers last night, Renjun texted him his address and told him to swing by his place in the morning. It wasn't easy to shake off his parents — what with Donghyuck's mother demanding where he was off to so early, his father wanting to know where he'd been yesterday, and his grandmother urging him to stay and have breakfast with them — but Donghyuck managed to slip out of the house before nine.

Donghyuck takes the stairs two at a time. He's slightly out of breath when he reaches Renjun's landing, but he thinks he could use the exercise, since the doctors want them to regain body muscle. A year of captivity can leave you with serious bone and flexibility issues, as it seems. Donghyuck has noticed he grows tired easily, and he wants to avoid any more damage if he can. 

"Hey." Renjun is waiting for him outside of his apartment, snapback pulled low over his forehead. "My mom wants to know if you want breakfast."

"That's fine," Donghyuck says, ignoring the rumble of his stomach. "We should get going."

Renjun stares at him for a moment longer before sighing and pulling something out of his backpack. "Have a sandwich, Hyuck."

Donghyuck wonders if they all picked up the nickname from Mark. Then again, Jeno called him so before meeting Mark, so probably not. 

"Thanks." He takes a bite, groaning at the taste. "Shit, that's good. Did your mom make this?"

"My dad," Renjun corrects him, brushing past him and climbing down the stairs. "He handles the small bistro at the bakery."

"What do you do?" Donghyuck inquires.

Renjun thinks before answering, "I think I was a cashier, and sometimes I helped in the kitchen. I don't know, things are a little fuzzy still."

"Yeah, I get that," Donghyuck nods. 

They don't speak again until they've exited the building, Donghyuck's sandwich long gone. It's a hot, sunny day, and the heat feels like a physical being that clings to his skin. Donghyuck sheds the jean jacket, wrapping the sleeves around his waist. 

"Lord, it's hot today," Renjun moans. "Please don't tell me we have to walk far."

"Uh," Donghyuck says, "Not really. We can cover most of the trip by bus, and then we'll have to walk a little from the bus stop to the actual nursing home."

"You did your homework," Renjun praises him.

Donghyuck flushes. "Well, not really. I googled the address and then asked my mom if she knew the place. She told me that's where they put my grandad when he had Alzheimer."

"Oh. Sorry."

"I never met him," Donghyuck shrugs. "He had early onset Alzheimer, they diagnosed him before I was born. Oh, that's our bus."

The two rush to the bus stop, barely making it in time before the doors close. Donghyuck leads them to a double seat toward the back, further from the other passengers. Wouldn't want anyone to eavesdrop. 

"Okay, so," Renjun says, somber, "how are we going to get in? Neither of us has family members in the nursing home."

"Don't worry about it, I have a plan." 

"What kind of plan? Do I need to remind you this isn't a Tom Cruise movie? I'm not James Bond, Hyuck," Renjun rambles.

Donghyuck openly laughs at him. "Will you relax? It's not like I'm gonna make you crawl through the sewers or climb any fences, Renjun, geez."

"What is it, then?" Renjun insists. 

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it," Donghyuck says. "The only thing you need to know is that this nursing home doesn't just cater to old people, and that you need to learn to trust me."

Renjun doesn't relax, but he grants Donghyuck the wheel. The ride is a little bumpy, and the sunlight that streams through the window heats up Donghyuck's left arm and leg, but at least the bus is air conditioned and they're out of the scorching summer heat.

They get off after fifteen minutes. Renjun glances around, perhaps looking for a sign or an entrance, and fails to recognise anything as a nursing home. Donghyuck smiles secretly.

"Where is it?" Renjun asks.

"I told you we had to walk for a bit," Donghyuck reminds him. "C'mon, I don't want to stand around under this sun."

Donghyuck takes off south, and Renjun scampers after him. They pass a lady with her toddler, a handful of small businesses, a house or two. Renjun grows more confused with each minute, and Donghyuck can't hold back his amusement.

"What the fuck is so funny?" Renjun demands.

Donghyuck giggles. "It's right in front of you," he says. 

Renjun whips his head around. Donghyuck keeps walking, waiting for him to notice it. Finally, they're at the front gates, and there's no way Renjun doesn't see it.

"That's it?" Renjun gapes. Donghyuck nods.

The Vrais Nursing Home for the Senior and the Disabled sits on a hill. The sole public entrance is through tall, white gates that lead to a set of what appear to be infinite stairs, a staircase that winds through the trees until it reaches the actual home.

Donghyuck regrets not bringing a water bottle halfway through the staircase. It's definitely way too hot to be climbing so far up, but he pushes on. Renjun doesn't appear to be doing much better than him, either; Donghyuck notices him favouring his right foot, and he belatedly realises Renjun still has a bandage on his left ankle.

The nursing home is in reality a cluster of buildings spread across the hill. The main office is a small house to the right of the stairs' landing, and the door's open when they reach the top. Donghyuck groans in relief when the office comes into view.

It has an air conditioner. Donghyuck feels tempted to sit in the waiting area for the rest of the day, but there's no one in the room other than them, a nurse, a secretary behind a tall desk, and a volunteer. 

"Excuse me," Donghyuck tries to say, and it comes out in a wheeze, "I'm—"

"Donghyuck!" the secretary exclaims. Then, looking behind him, she adds, "Renjun!"

"Um," Renjun glances at Donghyuck, "I'm sorry, I'm not sure…"

"Oh, no, I know, you probably don't know who I am," she shakes her head with a giggle. "We went to school together? You two were a grade above me, but we all know each other around here. I'm Yerim."

"Well, hi, Yerim," Donghyuck grins at her. "Maybe you could help us."

Yerim cocks her head to the side. "What can I do for you?"

Donghyuck puts on his most innocent façade, hoping that all those years he allegedly spent in the drama club were for something. 

"You see, Renjun and I found a forum online for people with, like, amnesia, right? And a few people were saying how talking to other amnesiacs helped them, especially with coping."

"Okay," Yerim trails off.

"Well," Donghyuck widens his eyes, "I saw on the website that this institution houses people with memory problems. We were wondering if it could be possible for us to talk to some of them?"

Yerim purses her lips. Donghyuck prays inwardly that she says yes, even if logically she shouldn't. Donghyuck pushes his lower lip out, just enough to complete the innocent look. 

Eventually, Yerim sighs. "Alright, I can take you to one of our support groups —"

"Oh, that's fine," Donghyuck shakes his head with a wide smile, "I can tell you're busy, we don't want to be a bother, we can find our way there!"

"But," she tries.

"No, no, you stay here," Donghyuck insists, pushing Renjun toward the door. "We'll swing by before we leave, don't worry!"

Donghyuck exits the house and closes the door before she can answer, sighing in relief. Renjun stares at him incredulously.

"That was your plan?" He hisses. 

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?"

"I wouldn't say it worked," Renjun says, falling into step next to Donghyuck. "More like you didn't let her get a word in."

Donghyuck shrugs, peering at the signs along the cobbled path. "As long as she doesn't call the cops on us, it's fine. And, even if she does, Johnny can get us out."

"You're unbelievable."

“I know. Now, all we need to do is find where they keep the old and sane – don’t look at me like that, you can’t expect a senile person to give us the answers we want.”

“Yeah, fine.” Renjun sighs and looks around the open quad. “How are we supposed to know where to go?”

“There’s a map over there. Let’s see if they label the houses explicitly.”

There’s a map, yes. An old, faded image plastered to a corkboard, edges fried and words unintelligible. They try to read it anyway, to no avail, and Renjun huffs. 

“You should’ve let Yerim guide us; maybe she would have pointed out the other buildings.”

“Maybe not,” Donghyuck grins, pointing to one of the buildings to the west, where a group of the elderly stand around. There’s a nurse with them, and a man in a light blue shirt and khaki pants. “You know what that looks like?”

“A tourist group?” 

Donghyuck snorts. “No. Well, yes, but that’s not my point. We have to follow them inside that building.”

“Hyuck, I can see the future, not read minds. I really need you to tell me your plans.” Donghyuck glances at Renjun, noticing his frown. Okay, so maybe he isn’t doing a good job at explaining his ideas to him.

“Alright: we need to talk to someone who’s old, but not old enough to have, like, Alzheimer or something, right? And they over there seem to fit the criteria. All we have to do is go inside and find someone willing to talk.”

Donghyuck thinks it’s an excellent idea. Renjun seems to disagree, however, and Donghyuck rushes to add, “Come on, we don’t lose anything by trying!”

He waits for Renjun to answer, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Renjun doesn’t look like he’ll say yes and Donghyuck readies himself for rejection, until Renjun nods. “Since we’re here…We already climbed the stairs of doom, anyway.”

Sneaking into the building isn’t as hard as Donghyuck expected it to be. There are no guards in the vicinity, and all the nurses are too busy catering to their attendees to pay attention to two teenage boys. They walk down a long hallway, past a parlour where the elderly play domino and card games, and stop when they reach a library. 

There aren’t as many people here as there were in the parlour, most of the tables either empty or hosting one person alone.

“Should we split up?” Renjun asks. 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “No, I think we should stick together. That man looks friendly, let’s ask him first.”

That man wasn’t friendly. Neither were the next five people that they approached, each greeting them with a scowl and proceeding to insult them three ways to Sunday. Renjun shuts down after the third time someone insults his skinny frame, and no matter how hard Donghyuck tells himself they’re old, he’s tempted to say something scathing back.

More importantly, no one has anything to say about the circus. They all claim they have never seen it before, that last year was the first time they even heard of the Neo Circus, and that they went there in a road trip and everything was perfectly fine. The fact none of them meet their eyes when they say so raises every flag in Donghyuck’s book.

The clock ticks steadily to noon. A nurse enters the library and announces it’s time for lunch, earning disgruntled grunts. Donghyuck is ready to give up when he sees a lady still sitting in the corner of the room, eating crackers and reading a poetry book.

“Final try?” he asks Renjun, and receives a reluctant nod. Donghyuck makes his way through the maze of chairs and tables toward her. “Excuse me, hi? I’m Donghyuck, this is my friend Renjun.”

“I know who you are,” she nods, not unkindly. Bored, mostly. “I heard you talking to those geezers.” 

Donghyuck grins at her choice of words. Renjun sits down, too, and Donghyuck knows he knows it, too – they found their little birdy.

“Well, then you must have heard what we asked them,” Renjun says.

To their surprise, the lady slams her book shut, then the window behind her. She looks around the room, ensuring they’re alone. “Yes. You have to be more careful,” she hisses, “You can’t just go around asking those things. You never know who’s listening.”

Donghyuck gulps. Next to him, he feels Renjun tense.

“Ma’am.” Donghyuck lowers his voice at her reproaching eyes. “You know something, don’t you?”

“And if I do?” she snaps. This time, Donghyuck can’t blame her. “It doesn’t change anything.”

“Please?” Renjun pleads. Donghyuck holds his breath, his heart hammering away in his chest. “We need your help.”

The lady meets their eyes. She’s wavering; Donghyuck can see it clear as day. All she needs is a little push in the right direction.

“If you tell us what you know,” Donghyuck whispers, “You would be helping a lot of people.”

Another minute of silence. They have front row seats to her internal debate, the way she fidgets uncomfortably as she thinks, playing with the dog-eared edges of her poetry book. A few strands of grey hair fall from her bun and she brushes them away absentmindedly. 

“Very well. I have seen the circus before – we all have. They came to town when I was a little girl, back in the ’53.” Her eyes glaze over, her gaze faraway. “Oh, I wanted to go so badly. I was eight, so my mother made my big brother go with me. He wasn’t very happy about it, he wanted to be with his friends, but I was ecstatic. 

“I remember the lions, the popcorn, all the pretty lights. They had an aerial show, and the two girls were so beautiful – I was fascinated. They looked like they were flying.”

She stops to dab her eyes with a handkerchief. Donghyuck shares a look with Renjun charged with two things: fear and certainty.

“The circus stayed in town for three days. On the day they left, my brother disappeared. Everyone said he’d run away with his girlfriend, that she was pregnant. My mother never spoke a word of him again.”

“He disappeared,” Renjun repeats, “Right on the day the circus left?”

“Yes.” Donghyuck doesn’t like the look she sends them. “That’s not all, though.”

Donghyuck is almost too afraid to ask, but he must. “What is it?” 

“I remember that day very well, dear. Yesterday, when they took us to the show… the ringmaster that greeted us, the aerial girls, the man selling the popcorn, almost everyone was the same from seventy years ago.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: **mentions of blood**

If someone had told the Yangyang from a year ago that one day he would spend two days in a row researching psychic abilities with a rich boarding school kid in an occult shop, he would have laughed in their face.

Except, no one could have predicted anything that's happened in the past 12 months.

Yangyang returns to their table with two steaming cups of coffee, a bag of chips held between his teeth, and a massive headache he doesn't think will ever go away. Jaemin doesn't look up from the encyclopedia in front of him, raising a finger to signal Yangyang to wait.

"Found anything?" Yangyang asks. 

Jaemin makes a sound of agreement. Yangyang reclaims his seat across from him, placing Jaemin's coffee within reach of the boy, and waits for Jaemin to tell him what he found.

"Okay, I think I know what Donghyuck's power is," Jaemin says. "Or, at least, I've narrowed it down. According to these," he motions to the pile of books around him, "it has many names. I'll call it apportation, because as far as we can tell, he can't actually manipulate the objects he attracts."

"And if he could? What would it be called?"

"Telekinesis, maybe." Jaemin shrugs, flipping the book so Yangyang can look at it. "See? Teleportation, users can teleport matter or energy from one place to another without needing to touch it."

"But Hyuck can't do it on living organisms," Yangyang reminds him. "He tried yesterday, he said it was impossible."

After returning from the elderly home, Donghyuck and Renjun paid them a visit at the public library to explain in detail what they could do. Donghyuck told them he'd managed to move an eraser at his desk, but he'd tried moving his sibling's pet hamster to no avail.

"It isn't an exact science," Jaemin shrugs. "The important thing is that we have a name, and a list of things he could possibly do."

Yangyang takes the offered slip of paper: bullet points depicting likely abilities, with Jaemin's personal annotations to the side. 

"You think he could create things?" 

"I'm certain he could," Jaemin corrects him. "I remember it. After a while of... being there, he could create bandaids."

"Cool," Yangyang nods. "And me? Do you know what my thing is?"

Jaemin shuffles through the disaster zone that's become their table until he finds a different book, this one with post-it notes sticking out over the pages. 

"There are a few things it could be, and we won't know for sure until we've explored it a bit more, but for now, let's call it health manipulation."

"That sounds like I can make someone sick, and I don't think I can do that," Yangyang points out.

Jaemin looks at him beneath his lashes. "I know, but you can heal people; you can close wounds, repair broken bones — at least on yourself — and you were probably the sole reason our bones didn't deteriorate beyond repair. I think you were also the one keeping us from starvation and dehydration."

Yangyang flaps his hands to shut him up, not wanting to hear it. Jaemin is a little too earnest for Yangyang's well-being.

"Alright, so, health manipulation, check. What else?"

Jaemin sighs, running a hand through his hair. "We don't know much about Renjun and Jeno, and there's only so much we can find."

"Maybe not," Yangyang grins. At Jaemin's expectant silence, Yangyang flips his notebook open and points at the last pages. "Renjun: precognition. The ability to foresee future events. Oh, Renjun's gonna like this part: knowing the future invariably causes it to change, so nothing is set in stone."

Jaemin grins. Yangyang whines, not too loudly so as not to disturb the people around them. Most of the shop is empty, but there's a gaggle of people at the other side of the room. 

"What?" Yangyang asks.

Jaemin shakes his head, still grinning. "Nothing, nothing. So, did you find anything on Jeno?"

"No," Yangyang sighs. "And until he figures out what he can do, other than vague as fuck memories, there's nothing we can search for him."

Jaemin falls silent. Yangyang has grown accustomed to it by now — Jaemin only gets that faraway look when he's thinking hard about something — so he opens the abandoned bag of chips and shoves a handful into his mouth. 

While Jaemin thinks, Yangyang watches him. His hair is a bird's nest, though Yangyang suspects he must appear the same, and the bags under his eyes increased tenfold in the last five hours. And yet he looks handsome — Yangyang's stomach twists.

As he drags his eyes elsewhere, something else catches his attention. 

Donghyuck mentioned seeing someone outside Detective Suh's house the other day, and Jaemin confirmed he'd seen them, too. Yesterday, Renjun said how weird the elders had acted at the nursing home, even those that refused to speak a word. As if they were being watched.

The woman at the counter is definitely watching them. 

Yangyang's back goes rigid. She doesn't even appear bothered that he caught her, and Yangyang's stomach fills with lead. 

Her hair's black as night, and her eyes shine red. She smiles at him, friendly if it weren't for the mocking expression in her eyes, and something glints behind her lips.

"Jaemin," Yangyang whispers. Jaemin hums without looking up. "Don't look. Someone's watching us."

At last, Jaemin's eyes meet his, mirroring Yangyang's panic. Heart in his throat, Yangyang peers at the counter again.

It's empty.

"She's gone." 

Yangyang doesn't feel relieved. Quite the opposite, in fact. He holds back the urge to throw up; those chips don't look as appetising anymore.

"A part of me wants to believe they wouldn't try anything in plain sight." Jaemin ruffles his hair again. "But this is the second time they let us see them."

"Do you think this is their way of sending a message?" Yangyang worries at his bottom lip.

Jaemin glances around the room, pupils blown wide. "No. They're just messing with us — if they wanted to send a message, they would do something a lot worse than watching us."

"That's not exactly reassuring, you know?"

Refocusing on Yangyang, Jaemin frowns. Yangyang jumps when Jaemin takes his hand in his, but doesn't pull away. "I'm sorry. But I promise you, nothing's gonna happen to you, or the others. I'm not letting them."

Yangyang feels like he swallowed a mouthful of lava. He doesn't know what to say, so he keeps his lips sealed, merely nodding. He jerks his head, hoping Jaemin won't take his silence the wrong way. 

Jaemin releases his hand, pink dusting his cheeks. He clears his throat and says, "I found some things about my gift. It's called oneiric teleportation, and it means I can teleport from my dreams to other people's dreams."

"Oh, like Dormammu from Doctor Strange."

Jaemin blinks. Yangyang waves a hand dismissively. 

"This book here," Jaemin drags a hardcover edition from the edge of the table, flipping through its pages until he finds what he's looking for, "says there are a number of things I could do: dream or nightmare imprisonment, dimensional storage, dream walking, portal manipulation and, as the name suggests, teleportation itself."

Yangyang skims the bookmarked pages for himself. Jaemin pretty much recited the highlights, but that's to be expected; he's like a walking encyclopedia, and Yangyang would be lying if he said he doesn't have a hard time following conversation with him sometimes.

"Does this mean you could use someone else's dreams to teleport to wherever they are?" Yangyang asks.

"In theory," Jaemin assents. "I would have to practice a lot, though. I also confirmed my suspicions that I need to either be in touch with the dreamer or be familiar with them."

"That's really cool," Yangyang tells him. 

"Not very useful. I can't do much with it, especially not against… them."

Yangyang makes a face. "You don't know that. We don't know what we're gonna do, for starters, so we don't know what's helpful and what isn't."

Jaemin disagrees, clearly, but he doesn't argue. Yangyang looks to the side, bouncing his knee. It's almost closing time, he realises, and they're the only ones left in the store. 

"We should get going," he says. "Text the guys, tell them to meet us at Moonshine Diner."

They pack their things, check out a few books at the counter — where a very nice, very non-threatening teenaged boy works — and catch the first bus to the square.

Jeno's there already when they arrive. He's sitting at the same booth they occupied two days ago, a serving of fries on the table next to a cherry cola. Yangyang slides into the booth and steals some of his fries, smiling innocently at Jeno's raised eyebrow.

"You're lucky I ordered those for everyone," Jeno warns him. Yangyang is undeterred; Jeno wouldn't hurt a fly, no matter how mean looking he is.

Jaemin takes the spot next to Jeno, discarding his jacket on the back of the booth before flagging down the waitress. They order dinner, because halfway here Yangyang noticed his stomach was roaring, and they make sure to order for Renjun and Donghyuck, partly because it's the polite thing to do, but also because they don't want too many interruptions.

"How did it go?" Jeno asks. "Or should we wait for Hyuck and Renjun?"

"I think we should wait," Yangyang says. "How'd your day go? Any luck with your superpower?"

Jeno grins. "Actually, I know what I can do. I can't do it yet, but I know what it is."

Jaemin and Yangyang stare in expectation. "So?" Yangyang urges. "You remembered?"

"I took a nap after lunch, and I had a dream." Jeno checks there's no one around before he stage-whispers, "I can astral project."

"Wow," Jaemin whistles. "Are you sure? What did you dream about?"

Before he speaks, though, Yangyang has more pressing questions to make. "You took a _nap_ after lunch? I haven't slept in like three days and you get to nap?"

"Shut up," Jeno rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "I haven't been sleeping either, that's why I napped."

"What are we talking about?" Donghyuck asks, cornering Jeno against the window. Renjun slides into the booth next to him, looking worse for wear.

"What happened to you?" Yangyang blurts.

"Long day," is all Renjun says. "What was Jeno talking about?"

"Astral projection. It's what I can do," Jeno explains. "I took a nap, and the same thing as the other day happened: I dreamt, but it was more like a memory."

"What were you doing in the dream?" Jaemin asks. 

"In the dream, I was in a tent — I'm guessing the one where they kept us all the time — and I was sleeping. I thought it would be some weird or traumatic shit, but instead I saw myself, or my ghost, spring out of my body."

His statement meets silence. It isn't unbelievable, though; at this point, Yangyang is willing to believe anything. 

"Then, I walked out of the tent, travelled like a thousand miles in the blink of an eye, and ended up at a river of some sort. It was actually nice," Jeno tacks on, voice softer. "The view was beautiful, but I could feel the me in the dream was sad."

"Why?" Donghyuck asks.

Jeno shrugs. "Maybe because the real me was trapped? I'm not sure. I only stayed there for a few minutes, then I woke up — dream me — and I was back in the tent. And then I woke up."

The others look at each other, then at him. "Cool," Renjun says honestly. 

"Dude," Yangyang laughs, "I think that's the coolest power yet."

"It would be cooler if I could do it now," Jeno rubs his neck. "But, yeah."

"I think we can help with that," Jaemin says.

They pause their conversation while the waitress delivers their meal. Yangyang's stomach rumbles loudly, and he salivates before he even gets the hotdog in his mouth.

Yangyang and Jaemin take turns explaining what they could find, the different names and possibilities for each of them, and what they can do with them.

"The brain," Jaemin sips on his milkshake, "is a muscle. And like any muscle, it can be trained. Now, usually, people train their brains to solve mathematical equations, but in our case, we can train ourselves to work with our powers."

"You sound like the villain in a shitty movie," Donghyuck tells him. 

Renjun doesn't wait for Jaemin to retort. "I think it's great that we can practice. We should get together tomorrow and get a fresh start."

"Why not now?" Jeno asks.

Yangyang's phone goes off. He checks the caller ID and grimaces, swiping left. "That was Kun," he says. "He's worried sick. I should go back to their place."

"That's why," Renjun points at Yangyang. "Johnny knows what we're doing, but the rest of our parents don't. We need to be careful."

"Yeah, about that," Yangyang grins sheepishly. A bitter taste fills his mouth and he washes it down with his soda. "We're being watched. The other day, the guy outside Johnny's. Today, at the bookshop, there was a girl watching us. She looked young, and her eyes were red. Like, blood red." Goosebumps break across his skin when he thinks about the smile she gave him, and keeps that detail to himself.

Donghyuck curses. Jeno looks over his shoulder, and it's a paranoid move, but Yangyang can't blame him. He resists the urge to copy him.

"It's late," Jaemin says softly, "and we're tired. Let's go home, we can meet up again in the morning."

Yangyang nods. A car passes by the window, momentarily blinding him, and Yangyang covers his eyes on instinct. When he lowers his hand, what is the first thing he sees? 

Two women across the street, their ruby eyes visible in the distance. Another car drives by, and their eyes glow under the headlights.

* * *

"I would like to state for the record that I think this is a bad idea."

Jeno hums. "I agree. But I also can't keep looking at a computer screen any longer."

Johnny kills the engine and grants Jeno one last look. Outside the car, a family of five walks past, their youngest insisting quite loudly about seeing the clowns. 

"Alright," Johnny unbuckles his seatbelt. "You do exactly as I say, when I say it, got it? And no running off on your own, okay? I'm not above arresting you."

They enter the Neo Circus. Jeno is quickly overwhelmed by all the noise and smells, and he almost regrets coming here. The stench of animal feces and wet pelt, the hundreds of kids screaming, and the myriad of fried food — it's a lot to take in. 

"We won't stay here long," Johnny says, "I'm just gonna talk to this ringmaster guy."

In theory, they have a solid plan: Johnny, bearing his detective badge like a shield, will ask to speak to the man in charge. He will interrogate the ringmaster, and he will hopefully get probable cause to raid the grounds. If the police find any other kidnapped children, the circus goes down.

Jeno joining him wasn’t part of the original plan. But he meant it when he said he couldn't bear to stay rooted to the computer for another day; Mark might be used to it, but not Jeno. He's running out of eye drops. 

"While I talk to the guy, you stay close," Johnny rambles, "but not too close so he'll grow suspicious."

"Got it."

"And no running off on your own, either. I don't want you getting lost in the crowd, or worse." 

"You said that already."

"You said that already," Johnny mocks him. "I'm serious, Jeno."

Jeno grabs Johnny's arm, stopping him. "I know. Relax, I'll be fine. I'm not gonna let them take me again."

Johnny doesn't appear convinced, but he doesn't have much of a choice. The detective agrees, albeit reluctantly, and Jeno lets him go.

They walk aimlessly for a bit. Neo Circus rented a wide expanse of land from the town council, but the circus itself isn't so large. The biggest tent sits in the middle of the field, red and yellow stripes reaching as high as twenty feet in the air. The flaps are closed, and a red cord restricts access — a sign outside informs that tonight's aerial show will begin at 6 o'clock.

Smaller tents dot the rest of the area, all as colourful as the main one: a haunted house in one tent, a fortune teller in another, a hall of mirrors, even a petting zoo. Between the tents are stalls with carnival games and food carts full of customers. 

The smell of buttered popcorn and caramelised apples wafts through the air. It's still early, not even 4 in the afternoon, and yet the grounds are fit to burst with visitors. Jeno squeezes between two groups of people just to catch up with Johnny.

They stop walking once they reach a more secluded area, close to the staff's tents. Not many people are here, except for those guys that care for the animals — Jeno doesn't know what they're called.

"That guy over there seems like a good choice," Johnny points to a guy sweeping hay. "You: don't lurk."

"Sure. Can I have some cash?"

"What for?"

Jeno shrugs. "I'm hungry."

Johnny grumbles, grabbing his wallet and giving Jeno some crumpled bills. Jeno grins, pockets the money, and walks off to give Johnny his space.

Every pretense of calm vanishes as soon as Jeno gets away from Johnny, and a pit opens in the bottom of his stomach. Jeno lingers, buying a bag of fried chicken balls because it's the nearest food cart. 

There's a bad feeling brewing inside him. 

Johnny hasn't been speaking to the guy for more than two minutes when he calls out for Jeno. As he approaches, he can't help but feel like the stranger is staring at him.

"Is everything okay?" Jeno asks. 

"Yes, it's alright. Jaehyun here," Johnny motions at the man, "just wanted to meet you."

Jaehyun, Jeno thinks, is a handsome man. Tall cheekbones, angled jaw, and he's tall. He seems to be in good shape, too. Normal, if the sight of him didn't make Jeno want to run away and hide under his blankets like a child.

"I've heard a lot about you," Jaehyun says. "You're the miracle boy."

"I wasn't aware that's what people have been calling us," Jeno deadpans. 

Jaehyun doesn't answer, his eyes boring into Jeno's with such intensity it makes the hair on the back of Jeno's neck stand on end. Jeno feels like a prey in a predator's radar. 

He can't breath, the air in his lungs turning to dust. He can't move, he can't _think_. He stops blinking, ice creeping up his back.

Jeno doesn't remember why he's here. Or where he is, for that matter. He forgets about the circus, about Johnny, about the other guys. 

Everything fades to nothing.

A hand clasps him on the back. Jeno jumps, startled, and his eyes refocus. Johnny's hand grips his shoulder, bordering on painful — _grounding_. 

Jaehyun looks away. He's smiling, but it's unsettling. Jeno can see the anger simmering behind the friendly façade. 

"I'll go get Taeyong," Jaehyun says. 

They watch him retreat into the staff’s area, disappearing into a green tent. Johnny doesn’t ask him what happened, not yet. 

“Fried chicken ball?” Jeno offers meekly. 

“That sounds disgusting.”

“It’s actually really tasty.”

“Detective! What can I do for you?”

Both Jeno and Johnny startle at the newcomer’s voice. 

The ringmaster approaches them with a cheery smile. Jeno can’t tear his eyes away from his white and red hair, the suit in a similar colour scheme, or the black top hat on his head. If anyone else tried to pull this off they would look like fools, but the ringmaster makes it work.

“Detective Suh,” Johnny offers his hand for the ringmaster to take. “I was hoping to ask you a few questions, mister…”

“Lee Taeyong,” he grins, “at your service. You must be Jeno – Jaehyun told me you came with the detective.”

Jeno nods jerkily. He avoids eye contact this time around, and not just as a precaution; no matter how Jaehyun’s presence terrified him, it pales in comparison to the crawling sensation on his skin that follows every word out of Taeyong’s mouth. 

“Mr. Lee, if you don’t mind, I need you to answer some questions,” Johnny says. He makes quick work of retrieving his notepad and pen from his trench coat’s inner pocket, flipping to an empty page and scribbling today’s date at the top. 

“Not at all! Happy to help.” There’s something odd about the ringmaster, Jeno thinks, but he can’t put his finger on it. 

Johnny takes a second to begin his questioning. Jeno doesn’t think much of it, too busy canvassing the area – didn’t there used to be more people around, just a second ago?

“Mr. Lee, you told the mayor that you wanted to bring your circus here for the anniversary of the disappearance, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Taeyong says. “We felt it was the right thing to do – they disappeared the same day we left, after all.”

“We?” Johnny echoes.

“Oh, me and the rest of the staff,” he clarifies. “We don’t go anywhere if someone disagrees. We’re a family.”

“Really?” Johnny looks up. He doesn’t speak again, not for several seconds, and Jeno diverts his attention to him again; Johnny appears normal, simply looking at the ringmaster. “I’ve seen a lot of young people working here. Do they have a permit?”

“They’re all family,” Taeyong says. “Their guardians work here, they granted permission.”

“How young is the youngest?” 

Taeyong hums, cocking his head to the side. Jeno chews on another chicken ball, hoping he appears calmer than he is. His stomach twists and protests the food, threatening to spill it for the world to see. It doesn’t help that Taeyong’s eyes travel to him every other instance.

“I believe our youngest is sixteen,” Taeyong answers. “She’s turning seventeen soon.”

This time, Johnny’s pause is longer. Jeno has to nudge him to jostle him out of whatever train of thought he got lost in. “What, exactly, does a sixteen year old girl do working at a circus?”

“Mostly helps our performers do their hair and makeup, but sometimes she’ll work tickets.” The ringmaster smiles sweetly and asks, “I don’t mean to be rude, but I doubt you came all the way here to ask about my employees.”

A boy comes into Jeno’s field of vision. He’s too far away for his features to be recognisable, other than black hair and dark eyes. He’s stacking boxes outside a tent, pulling things out from one and dumping them in another.

“No, you’re right,” Johnny says. “You see, Mr. Lee, I don’t believe in coincidences. You came here a year ago, and on the day you left, five boys disappeared. One year later, on the mark, you come back. So do the boys, and they appear in your circus. So you’ll excuse me, sir, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”

The ringmaster takes a long look at the detective. Jeno seizes his chance and watches the ringmaster, the playful glint in his eyes and the focused purse of his lips. 

“It isn’t a coincidence,” Taeyong says. “We decided to come back, didn’t we? Everything else is up to fate.”

“Fate?”

Jeno didn’t mean to say that aloud. He regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth, especially when Taeyong’s attention falls on him, and he feels pinpricks everywhere Taeyong’s eyes roam. 

“Of course,” Taeyong grins, but there is nothing friendly there this time. “What else would it be?”

_He’s taunting me,_ Jeno realises with a start. Taeyong breaks eye contact first, back to Johnny, but Jeno feels as if the ringmaster were still looking at him. With his teeth on display, he’s like a snarling dog. 

Jeno expects Johnny to take over the conversation again. He wasn’t supposed to be speaking in the first place, so it would be logical for Johnny to cover for him. Except the metaphorical clock keeps ticking, and Johnny’s mouth remains sealed.

When Jeno peeks at his face, a chill runs down his spine and settles there. 

“Johnny?” Jeno calls weakly.

Johnny’s face is an empty canvas. A milky mist clouds his eyes, and his jaw has gone slack. And the ringmaster is three seconds away from licking his claws.

“John,” Jeno says, louder this time. 

“I think,” Taeyong muses, “that it’s time for you to leave, detective. You don’t have anything else to do here, do you?”

“No,” Johnny says. The sound of his voice scares Jeno more than his eyes – empty, like a mere puppet repeating what it’s been told.

“You know there’s nothing here, right? Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Johnny repeats.

Jeno jostles him, to no avail. Johnny isn’t responding. Jeno whimpers, shakes Johnny’s arm, and does his best to avoid Taeyong’s eyes – eyes that slowly turn red the longer he has Johnny under his spell. His smile is all canines.

And then Johnny inhales, life returning to his body. Taeyong’s joyous expression drops. 

“No,” Johnny blurts. He clears his throat, composing himself, and says again, “No. I’m sorry, Mr. Lee, but I’m afraid that isn’t possible. I have reason to believe you or someone in your circus is involved in my case.”

“You have reason to believe?” Taeyong echoes. 

“That’s right. We’ll be in touch.” 

Without further ado, Johnny takes Jeno by the arm and drags him away.

They’re almost out of the circus when Johnny grabs Jeno’s chicken balls and throws them in the trash.

“Hey, I was eating that,” Jeno protests half-heartedly. 

“No eating anything that comes out of them,” Johnny snaps. Jeno shuts his mouth. “And no going back in there, as long as I can help it.”

They don't speak again until they're on the road. Jeno can't stop looking over his shoulder, peeking at the side rearview mirrors every other second.

"What happened back there?" Johnny asks him. "What was that Jaehyun guy doing?"

"I think he's the reason we can't remember anything," Jeno says. "I'm actually pretty certain."

Johnny curses. "Well, Taeyong is definitely going to be a problem. That was the scariest moment of my life," he adds quietly.

"What did he do?" Jeno is almost too afraid to hear the answer.

"It was like," Johnny pauses, gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turn white, "it was like he was inside my head, pulling at the strings. Handpicking through my memories and emotions to his pleasure."

"We have to warn the others. We need to come up with a new plan."

"I don't know how much good a plan will do us, at this point," Johnny murmurs.

* * *

“How long has he been out?” Donghyuck asks. 

Mark doesn’t look up from his laptop, typing away at one thing or another. Renjun peers at the heavy head on his shoulder, then at the clock on Johnny’s wall. “An hour or so. I think I nodded off too.”

“You did,” Mark murmurs. “At least you don’t snore like Jeno.”

Donghyuck drops his bag on the ground and joins them on the couch, sinking down on Jeno’s other side. “Where’d the other two go?”

“Johnny took them to get dinner,” Renjun says. “Mind taking him? I need to move before the other half of my body goes completely numb.”

Donghyuck flounders as a response. Renjun doesn’t hang around long enough to see him have a crisis, moving Jeno’s head from his shoulder to Donghyuck’s and standing up. Renjun stretches his arms above his head, groaning as his bones crack and pop back into place. 

“I’m getting a water bottle. Do you guys want anything from the kitchen?” Renjun asks. Both conscious boys decline his offer, and Jeno snores on.

Renjun walks into the kitchen, reaching for the refrigerator doors when his phone pings with a new message. One glance at the screen shows he has a text from his father, asking him if he's having a good time, and Renjun's stomach twists in displeasure as he sends back an affirmative.

Renjun isn't a fan of lying to his parents. As far as they're concerned, he's spending the night at Donghyuck's house, and Donghyuck's parents think he's with Jaemin. Renjun doesn't know what Jaemin told his parents, and he doesn't think it matters much at this point. They're caught in a web of lies, one that someone else wove for them to fall into. 

There’s nothing he could do about it, though. Today’s Wednesday, and the circus leaves Saturday morning. They still don’t know what, exactly, they’re going to do, and they need to work on their gifts in order to have even the slightest chance at success.

Some of them have been improving without meaning to: Renjun can predict little things without thinking about it, like earlier today when he prevented a vase from crashing to the ground at their bakery, and like the fact that Johnny, Yangyang, and Jaemin will be home in a few minutes. 

Donghyuck had texted him this morning with far too many emojis and exclamation points that he’s made great progress himself, having moved his bedside lamp and his dresser in the span of one hour. Jaemin said he’d fallen asleep in the library at the same time as Yangyang, their forearms touching, and he’d seen the boy’s dreams. Yangyang had healed Renjun’s sprained ankle this morning.

Jeno, on the other hand –

“Whoa!” Mark shouts.

Renjun rushes out of the kitchen to find Donghyuck and Mark struggling to hold Jeno down. His eyes are closed, skin ghostly pale, and he’s thrashing on the floor. Jeno’s eyes roll back and forth behind his closed eyelids, and Mark grabs his head to keep it from hitting the ground any further.

“What’s happening to him?” Renjun exclaims, falling to his knees next to them. His capped water bottle hits the carpet in his haste.

Donghyuck, teary-eyed, says, “I don’t know! He was fine one second and the next, he started doing this, I don’t know –”

Jeno’s eyes fly open and he sits up with a gasp. Renjun slumps back, his heart permanently lodged in his throat. He can’t do anything but stare as Jeno inhales a lungful of air before snapping, “Pen and paper, quick!”

“What?” Mark’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Pen and paper, I need pen and paper!” Jeno repeats with more urgency.

Mark scrambles for the yellow legal pad on the coffee table and the uncapped pen. Renjun grabs the bottle from where it rolled under the table and forces it into Jeno’s hands, giving him a pointed glare.

“Jeno, what the hell?” Donghyuck exhales, brushing Jeno’s sweaty bangs out of his eyes.

Jeno doesn’t answer, jotting down unintelligible things on the pad. Renjun murmurs something about getting him on the couch, but Jeno fights them off without looking up from whatever it is he’s writing, and he’s too strong for any of them – even for Mark. 

Renjun leans against the couch with a huff. His heartbeat hasn’t decreased, and he can’t understand why – Jeno’s fine, he’s perfectly lucid, and he isn’t bleeding, so why won’t the adrenaline that’s rushing through his veins stop? 

The front door slams open, followed by Yangyang’s raucous laughter. Jeno doesn’t budge from his frenzy, even when Jaemin crouches to look over his shoulder. 

“What happened?” Detective Suh asks, and his alarm is palpable in his voice. 

Renjun shakes his head, feeling the tiniest bit numb. His vision is hazy, his limbs heavy. “I don’t know,” he says, or tries to say. 

“Renjun?” Mark frowns. For the second time in five minutes, he abandons his laptop and his research, kneeling in front of Renjun with wide, concerned eyes. “Hey, are you okay?”

There’s a flurry of movements around him. Detective Suh joins his brother, waving a hand in his face, but Renjun’s sight has gone blurry and it’s difficult to follow his fingers. A heavy pressure has settled in his chest, as if someone placed an anvil on top of him.

Renjun is faintly aware of his eyes rolling to the back of his skull, and of his body slumping to the side, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Far away, as if he were inside a fish bowl, he hears their concerned voices. His head hurts.

He’s no longer in Detective Suh’s living room, sitting on his carpeted floor. He’s kneeling in a field under the night sky. In the distance, he can see the red hue of a massive fire. Everywhere around him, people run, scream, and topple each other in their hurry to get away from something Renjun can’t see.

A groan comes from the ground below him. Renjun glances down and chokes on a sob, because this vision is different to the previous one, but features the same conclusion: Donghyuck, lying on a pool of his own blood, a big shard of glass jutting out of his sternum.

“Fuck,” Renjun murmurs, “fuck, fuck, fuck. You fucking idiot, I told you this was a bad idea.”

Donghyuck attempts to talk. It ends with him coughing up more blood, coating his chin and lips. Renjun hushes him, salty tears landing on Donghyuck’s cheek. Fear washes over Renjun in a way he isn’t used to feeling, a kind of fear that clogs his airways and makes his head spin.

Renjun watches in real time as the light fades from Donghyuck’s eyes, and then returns to reality.

At first, he doesn’t register that he’s back in the real world. His head is stuck in that awful vision, on the bloody wound on Donghyuck’s chest. He can’t stop replaying that single moment, the second Donghyuck died in his arms. 

What’s most terrifying is the knowledge that he had something to do with it. Renjun doesn’t know how or why, but he knows that if that vision comes true, he will be responsible for Donghyuck’s death. 

“I can’t do this,” Renjun whispers through tears. Someone is gripping his shoulders, and someone else is speaking to him, but Renjun doesn’t acknowledge either of them. “I told you, I can’t do this.”

Slowly, a single voice breaks through the haze. Mark’s speaking to him, the words faint and fuddled, then clearer. Renjun breathes with him, shutting his eyes against the images in his head, until the nausea fades. 

Renjun blinks past his tears. His surroundings come back into focus, and his pulse returns to normal. 

“Hey,” Detective Suh murmurs, kindly, “Are you back with us, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Renjun nods, wiping his wet cheeks with his sleeves. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to freak you guys out.”

“This is a lot of excitement for five minutes,” Donghyuck says. “So, if you’re alright now, I think you and Jeno have a lot to explain.”

Renjun agrees silently. Mark and Jaemin grab his arms and hoist him up on the couch, where they flank him so he doesn’t tip over. Renjun can’t complain – his body has turned to mush.

“Eat,” Detective Suh says, dropping a take-out container on his lap. “I don’t want you passing out.” 

The others sit around the living room, grabbing their orders in silence. Even though his stomach is in knots, Renjun picks at his dinner. Jeno, on the other hand, is something of a starved man, shoving spicy noodles into his mouth as if it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

“Jeno, you might wanna slow down,” Donghyuck says. 

Jeno waves him off, gulping the last of his meal before saying, “Nah. That shit drained me, I was starving.”

“What happened while we were gone?” Yangyang asks.

“We were sitting right here,” Mark says, wide-eyed, “Jeno was sleeping, and all of a sudden he was on the ground, having some sort of seizure.”

“Scared the crap outta me,” Donghyuck mumbles. 

“Ditto,” Renjun says. Mark makes a sound of agreement, too.

With all eyes on him, Jeno shrinks back into his seat. Renjun takes a dumpling into his mouth while Jeno makes up his mind, understanding that whatever it is that happened to Jeno, it wasn’t easy. 

“I astral travelled,” Jeno says. They could hear a pin drop in the room. “I saw the circus. I know what they’re up to.”

Everyone freezes. Jaemin chokes on his noodles, hacking and pounding his chest until he dislodges whatever was in his throat. Detective Suh inhales sharply and asks, “What exactly did you see?”

Jeno shows them the pad by his feet, flipping to the last page. He seems to have written on every available inch, but Renjun can’t read any of it. It’s all a mass of inky black scrawls, smudged wherever Jeno grew too excited – or anxious – to be careful. 

“They’re planning a special performance for Friday night, their last night in town,” Jeno says. Renjun can’t take another bite and puts his container on the table. “They’re going to cause a distraction and take other kids.”

“Why?” Jaemin asks. 

Jeno shrugs, helpless. “I think they’re like us. They were saying something about taking the ones they couldn’t take the last time.”

“How the hell do they plan on getting away with that?” Mark demands. 

“Probably the same way we couldn’t remember anything when we escaped,” Yangyang suggests. “They must have someone that can help them with it.”

“Several someones,” Donghyuck adds.

“We definitely know one of them,” Detective Suh says with certainty. “Jaehyun. He did something to Jeno when we went there. And their leader might be even worse.”

Renjun shudders. Jeno told them all about his and Johnny’s trip to the circus as soon as he was back home, one voice message after the other with increased speed, until the last one was barely understandable. 

“Did you hear anything else?” Donghyuck prods.

Jeno nods, then shakes his head, confusion written all over his face. Renjun doesn’t like that one bit, especially coupled with the nervous bounce of his legs. Add that to his vision of today, and Renjun is ready to bury his head in the dirt out in Detective Suh’s garden. 

“They said something about making sure that no one would question them this time,” Jeno says. “They were very vague about it but the gist of it was that they have someone that can delete their trace. That was all I could hear, because then I was back here.”

“Good grief,” Jaemin huffs, combing his hair back. “This is insane.”

“That must have been terrifying,” Yangyang mumbles. Jeno shifts uncomfortably in agreement. 

Donghyuck pats Jeno’s shoulder in comfort, but the boy doesn’t tear his eyes away from his lap. Yangyang crawls over to Jeno’s other side and lays his hand on his, his face pinched with worry. 

“Renjun? What about you?” Detective Suh asks.

Renjun retreats into himself, pulling his knees up to his chest. “I had a vision,” Renjun says. “There was a fire. People were running and screaming. I think it was the park, where the circus set up. I saw… I saw Donghyuck.”

“Me?” Donghyuck blurts out. “What about me?”

Except Renjun can’t bring himself to say it. He’s going to throw up if he opens his mouth.

“Renjun,” Donghyuck says slowly. “What about me? What happened?”

“Hyuck,” Jeno tries, but Donghyuck shakes him off. “Don’t pressure him.”

“I’m not pressuring him, I just want to know why he’s so upset. Did I do something?”

“No,” Renjun whispers. “You were dead.”

The mood in the room, if possible, dampens further. Mark goes rigid next to him, his head whipping to the side to stare at his best friend, as if making sure he’s still there. No one says a word. 

“And I’m pretty sure I killed you.”

Donghyuck pulls back, shocked. Renjun wipes his nose and looks elsewhere, terrified to meet eyes with anyone.

"What makes you say that?" Yangyang asks softly. 

Renjun shrugs, unsure of how to explain it. "I can't say how or why, I just know it."

Detective Suh coughs, gearing up to say something, when the doorbell rings. Everyone in the room freezes, including Renjun — he temporarily forgets about his crisis in the face of danger.

"I'll go get it," Mark says, his voice just that much shakier than usual.

"Be careful," Donghyuck pleads.

Mark nods. Detective Suh stands with him, reaching for the gun on the counter. In spite of his clear hand motions asking them to stay put, they crowd around the corner. 

Detective Suh, defeated, puts a finger to his lips. Mark's hand is already on the doorknob, waiting for his brother to give him the green light. The detective hides behind the door, gun raised at hip level. 

At his brother's nod, Mark opens the door.

"Doyoung?" Mark says in surprise.

Detective Suh steps out from behind the door, gun still in hand. Detective Kim sees the gun and his eyes widen, stumbling through something that's meant to be a reassurance it's just him.

"Doyoung, what the hell?" Detective Suh asks.

"I could ask you the same question," Detective Kim huffs, sidestepping around the brothers to walk further into the house.

When his eyes land on the five boys, his expression turns even more sour. Renjun is no expert in body language, but he thinks anyone could tell the detective isn't happy to see them.

"So, want to explain to me why Mr. and Mrs. Na called the station today and asked if their son was all done for the day?"

Detective Suh holsters his gun and sighs dejectedly. His partner doesn't wait for his answer. 

"Or why you've been snooping in the archives looking for who knows what? Why are the boys here, John? What is going on?"

"You're never going to believe us," Detective Suh says.

"Try me."

* * *

“I see. And you couldn’t have told me this earlier?”

Jaemin stares at Detective Kim in shock. They all do, in fact, including his partner. 

“That’s it?” Detective Suh gapes. “You see? What do you see?”

Detective Kim raises his eyebrows in his direction. “What do you want me to say? Would you prefer it if I passed out?”

“Yes!”

“Dude, you’re really cool with this?” Mark asks. “Just like that?”

The detective sighs and retrieves a pen from his pocket. He hands it to Yangyang and says, “Hide this. Anywhere in the house, but don’t tell me where.”

Yangyang, puzzled, does as he’s told. He returns to the room seconds later, pen nowhere to be seen. Detective Kim shrugs off his jacket and throws it over the back of the couch, rolling his shirt sleeves up over his elbows. Then, he takes off in the direction of Detective Suh’s bedroom, motioning for the rest to follow him. Jaemin has inkling as to what he’s going to do, and excitement blooms in his chest.

They gather outside the door, save for Detective Kim, who goes straight for the dresser. He opens the third drawer, lifts a pair of socks, and pulls out his pen. Next to Jaemin, Jeno’s mouth hangs open in shock.

“I’m gifted, too,” the detective explains as they walk back to the living area. Jaemin notices how disastrous the room is and grimaces, dreading already having to clean it up. “That’s why I didn’t react how I assume Johnny and Mark did.”

“They were in shock for half an hour,” Yangyang informs him, far too cheerfully. 

Detective Kim cracks a smile. “Of course they were.”

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking,” Renjun says, “What kind of power do you have?”

“I can find lost things and people,” Detective Kim says, smiling faintly. “That’s why I became a detective in the first place.”

Detective Suh makes a sound that’s part wounded and part understanding. “Is that why you were so…?” he trails off.

“Yes,” his partner nods. To the boys, he adds, “When you kids went missing, I thought I would be able to find you quickly. It’s not just my job, it’s also my skill. I had never failed at an assignment before, but then you disappeared and there was no trace of you anywhere.”

“You didn’t take it very well, huh?” Jeno murmurs.

A wry smile distorts the detective’s features. “It makes me sound self-centred, doesn’t it? I suppose I was, for a while.”

No one responds. Jaemin doesn’t know what to say, either way. He’s glad the detective is on their side, however, because it means they have one more helping hand. 

“However, this still doesn’t explain why you’ve been so secretive,” Detective Kim says to his partner, back to his previous self. “I had to lie to their parents, to our supervisors, to the evidence custodian… you better have a good explanation.”

“I don’t know about good, but,” Detective Suh shrugs. 

Rolling his eyes, Detective Kim urges him to explain. Detective Suh sighs and looks to them for help; Mark avoids eye contact, pretending to be in deep conversation with Donghyuck, and Renjun has retreated into his shell once more. It leaves Jeno, Jaemin, and Yangyang – well, Jeno and Jaemin, because Yangyang doesn’t appear very enthusiastic to speak, either.

“Um, it’s a very long story,” Jeno starts awkwardly. “Do you have time?”

“I told dispatch I would be following up on a lead in your case,” the detective confirms. “Not exactly a lie, either.”

Jaemin and Jeno share a look. Jaemin reclaims his seat next to Renjun, crosses one leg over the other, and contemplates where would be best to start. He supposes the beginning will do.

“The night of the storm,” he says slowly, waiting for the detective to make eye contact with him, “the Neo Circus kidnapped us. We suspect it has to do with our powers, but we aren’t entirely sure yet.”

“The circus?” Detective Kim repeats in surprise.

Jeno nods. “Yeah. We know it’s hard to believe, but –”

“It isn’t,” he interrupts him. “It explains a lot, actually. Please, continue.”

“Well, like I said, they kidnapped us. They took us from our homes, put us in a van, and took us… I don’t know where.” Jaemin frowns, thinking hard, but it’s useless. He doesn’t think they were ever told where they were, but he knows the circus continued to travel as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

“We’re not sure what they are,” Jeno takes over. “We know two things for sure: one, some, if not all of them, have gifts of their own. Two, they were feeding from us.”

Those words aren’t any easier to hear now than they were the first time they explored the possibility. Donghyuck and Mark fall silent, their hushed whispers tapering off as Jeno and Jaemin take turns speaking. Detective Kim pales considerably at Jeno’s statement, and though he obviously tries to keep his composure, his eyes betray him.

“They fed from you?” he stammers, looking at his partner for an explanation. 

Detective Suh shakes his head. “Let them explain.”

“It’s like they’re vampires,” Jeno continues, “because they have fangs and they drank our blood.”

“Vampires?” Detective Kim grows fainter by the second. Renjun, too, seems close to passing out, and Jaemin laces their fingers together in support. 

“I mean, that’s just how I’m calling them in my head,” Jeno says. “I don’t know if the guys would agree?”

“I think that’s a good analogy,” Donghyuck nods. “But not like the vampires from Twilight, more like the ones in Val Hellsing.”

“I’ve never seen that movie before,” Yangyang comments. 

“Can we leave the vampire discourse for another time?” Renjun pleads.

Jaemin smiles to himself. “Anyway,” he says pointedly, “those are two things we know for certain. We know they've done this at least once before, but we don't know why they would return to Vrais, how we escaped, nothing.”

“I think I can answer at least one of those questions,” Mark jumps in. 

Jeno snaps his fingers in excitement, his eyes lighting up. “That’s right! Guys, we found something.”

Mark fetches his laptop from the coffee table and makes quick work of loading it up, Jeno crowding next to him. Donghyuck peers over their shoulders while Mark types something in, and his eyebrows reach impressing heights when he sees what’s on the screen.

“At first, we couldn’t find anything,” Mark starts. “You think the mayor or someone else would’ve run a background check on the circus before agreeing to let them come here, right?”

A murmur of agreements. Both detectives frown, perhaps sensing where this is going.

“Well, the first thing Jeno and I did was Google Neo Circus. Guess how many results we got.”

“Not many, I take it?” Detective Suh says.

“Zero,” Jeno corrects him. “Null, nada.”

“That’s impossible,” Detective Kim shakes his head. “There’s no way the city council would have rented them the land without some sort of documentation.”

“I agree,” Mark nods. “So I hacked the city council’s grid, and –”

His brother’s eyes bulge out of their sockets. “You did what?”

“I hacked the city council’s grid,” Mark says slower. “And found nothing. There is no record of Neo Circus ever renting anything from them; not a permit, a letter, a contract, nothing.”

Renjun, now leaning his weight on Jaemin, makes a sound of confusion. “They must have someone with them that convinced the mayor they did rent the land.”

“Are you alright?” Detective Suh asks.

“Injun?” Donghyuck echoes.

“I’m okay,” Renjun reassures them, nodding against Jaemin’s shoulder. “I think that vision earlier drained me more than I realised.”

“You can take a nap in my room, if you want,” Jeno offers. Renjun declines, promising he’ll tell them if he feels worse. 

“It must be that Jaehyun guy. Whoever made the council think they had the documents,” Detective Suh elaborates. “Jeno and I think he might have been the one to delete all your memories, who’s to say he can’t create them?”

“We also know they have someone that can delete their presence, or their internet trace, or whatever,” Donghyuck adds. “That must be why you couldn’t find anything.”

“Who says we didn’t find anything?” Mark smirks.

Yangyang perks up, finally regaining some of his usual energy as he bounces lightly on the couch cushion. “What is it?”

Mark spins the laptop around so they can see what’s on the screen: a picture of a boy close to their age, perhaps a tad younger, posing with a peace sign in front of a hotdog stand.

“This,” Mark points to the photograph, “is the last Instagram post of one Xiao Dejun before he disappeared from his parents’ vacation home in Vermont, back in Christmas of 2016.”

Jaemin examines the picture closer and gasps. “I know him!”

“You do?” Jeno frowns.

“Yeah!” Jaemin says, unsure if he’s excited or what. “He was in my boarding school. Until one year, he never came back. I don’t think we ever learned what happened to him.”

“I think I have the answer to that,” Mark nods. “Take a closer look at the photo – do you see anything special?”

Everyone shuffles closer to the computer. Jaemin squints, going through every pixel, and doesn’t see what Mark might be referring to, but Yangyang does.

“Oh!” Yangyang exclaims. “That’s Neo Circus!”

“How can you tell?” Donghyuck frowns, searching the photo. “I can’t see anything other than that fried sausage in his hand.”

Yangyang points to something in the far back of the photo. Behind Dejun’s head, partially hidden behind a tree and the flare of sunlight, Jaemin spots a familiar red and yellow tent.

“That’s the main tent,” Jaemin says. “The circus definitely took him.”

“And they fucked up,” Renjun adds sleepily. “They didn’t delete this photo.”

Mark hums. “No, but they tried. This wasn’t actually on his Instagram feed – we had to dig it up from the cloud.”

“That’s not all,” Jeno says. “I searched the internet for unexplained disappearances in the last ten years, mostly kids and teenagers – I had to filter the searches like crazy, but eventually we ended up with this.”

Mark clicks around and pulls up a list. A very long list.

Donghyuck whistles. “Jesus Christ, there must be hundreds of names in there.”

“There are,” Jeno confirms softly. “Including Park Jisung and Zhong Chenle.”

Jaemin looks at him in shock. “The kids,” he says. “They were with us in the circus.”

“But not everyone else on this list,” Yangyang adds. “I mean, it’s impossible, right?”

“It is,” Jeno says. “My best guess is that they get rid of their victims once they’re no longer useful.”

Mark hums, a frown on his face. “According to this, your friends went missing in 2011. There must be a reason why they’ve kept them for so long.”

“Can I see that list?” Detective Kim asks. Mark gives him the laptop and the detective scrolls down the page, increasingly confused. “You’re telling me that this circus has kidnapped this many kids without anyone connecting the dots? And, on top of that, they’ve managed to get rid of their bodies without anyone finding their remains?”

“That’s one more mystery to solve,” Mark huffs.

“We’re not the Scooby Doo gang,” Donghyuck snorts. “Besides, we have more pressing matters: the circus leaves Saturday morning. It’s Wednesday.”

They tell Detective Kim about Jeno’s travel to the circus while he slept, Jeno explaining that Friday night might be their last chance at all. Then, he says something none of them expected to hear.

“I think some of us should go there tomorrow night and scout the field. I already know some of the circus’s layout but we have to find a way into the staff quarters.”

“No,” Detective Suh shoots his idea down right away. “That’s too dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t go alone,” Jeno insists.

“I’ll go with him,” Donghyuck offers up. Mark’s face betrays how he feels about the idea.

While Jeno and Donghyuck argue with the detectives and Mark about the pros and cons of the idea, Jaemin thinks. While he isn’t particularly enthused by the idea of sending his two friends to the lion’s den, all by themselves, he knows it would be useful.

Incredibly stupid and dangerous, yes, but useful.

“We would be super careful!” Donghyuck exclaims.

“I said no,” Detective Suh repeats.

Jeno huffs. “Johnny, don’t you think it’s best if we at least have an idea of where we’re going on Friday? We wouldn’t be confronting anyone, either, and we would go when they’re too busy with their shows to see us.”

“I can’t protect you if you go,” Detective Suh says slowly.

“We wouldn’t need you to,” Donghyuck says. “I’ve been making real progress with my gift, I can totally make something hard fly and knock anyone out if I need it.”

The detective looks at him for a long minute, and then looks at Jeno. He glances at everyone in the room, gouging their expressions. While his brother and partner are very obviously against it, Jaemin and Yangyang nod their agreement. 

“Renjun?” Donghyuck asks.

Renjun takes a second to reply. “I think it’s a terribly stupid idea. But I also think they’re right – we need to know what’s waiting for us on Friday.”

“You gotta be kidding me,” Mark sighs

* * *

The first thing Donghyuck does upon walking into Neo Circus on Tuesday evening is buy a churro. Jeno watches him eat it with a mildly disapproving expression, reminding him of Johnny’s words of, “Don’t take anything from them, we don’t know if they’re gonna try to drug you.”

“This is from a public stand,” Donghyuck waves him off. “They’re not gonna drug the entire town.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. Donghyuck rolls his eyes and ignores him, taking Jeno’s elbow in hand and dragging him further into the circus. Even though the circus has been in town for over a week, it’s still buzzing with activity, little kids running around with parents chasing after them, gaggles of teenagers, and a few tour groups from the Vrais Home.

“Where should we go first?” Jeno asks. “The shows haven’t started yet so they’re probably still backstage.”

“I think we should take a lap around the circus,” Donghyuck hums. “Make them think we’re just walking around.”

Jeno nods, his eyes flitting around them. “Well, then we better start now, because I’m pretty sure those clowns over there are staring at us.”

“Clowns?” Donghyuck echoes as cold spreads in his chest. 

Jeno spins them gently to the right, as if pointing out the haunted house. There, beneath the shade of a tree, is a congregation of clowns. Donghyuck sees what Jeno means right away: under the guise of blowing animal balloons for a group of children, the clowns are looking at them.

“They’re giving me the creeps,” Jeno says. 

Donghyuck agrees. A clown grins at them, wicked, and Donghyuck is certain something glints behind their lips. He shudders and turns away, mumbling to Jeno, “Let’s go check out the carrousel.”

“Oh, sure,” Jeno laughs, “Because carrousels aren’t scary at all.”

“They beat creepy clowns smiling and waving cheerfully at us.”

Jeno rolls his eyes but allows Donghyuck to lead the way. All he does is break free of Donghyuck’s grip to take his hand, resolutely looking somewhere else. Donghyuck stares at their joined hands, then at Jeno’s reddening cheeks, and has to glance away before Jeno sees his grin.

He dumps the empty bag in the nearest trashcan and wipes his hands on his jeans, ignoring the heavy eyes on the back of his head. Renjun had warned them not to garner any attention, time and time again reminding them that the Neo Circus isn’t to be messed around with, and Donghyuck isn’t about to ignore his warning.

The carrousel isn’t as scary as Jeno makes it out to be. The machine is gold and red, the horses and spinning teacups all seemingly brand new. The line stretches for a few metres, mostly kids eager to ride the ponies, and the clerk at the front appears bored. For once, someone in this circus looks normal.

“Should we ride a spinning teacup?” Jeno asks. 

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose. “I get dizzy easily. How about the haunted house?”

“You just want an excuse to cling to me,” Jeno teases him. Donghyuck doesn’t have a response to that.

They never make it to the haunted house.

As they circle back, with Donghyuck dreading to see the clowns again, a child barrels into them. Jeno stumbles over his feet as the kid latches onto his leg, looking up teary-eyed at them.

“Whoa, there,” Jeno chuckles, grabbing the kid by the shoulders to pull back. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t find my mommy,” the girl says. 

Donghyuck crouches to be eye level with her, putting on what he hopes is a soothing smile. “It’s okay, sweetie, we’ll help you find your mommy.”

“Where did you last see her?” Jeno asks.

The girl points toward the main tent, pouting. “We were in line for the big show when she disappeared.”

Donghyuck takes one of her hands, Jeno the other, and let her guide them to where she lost her mother. Most people seem to be making their way to the main tent, perhaps because it’s almost time for tonight’s show – even from afar, Donghyuck can see the line stretch far from the tent.

“What was your mom wearing?” Donghyuck asks the little girl. 

“I don’t know,” the little girl says.

“Does she have long hair? Short hair?” Jeno tries.

“I don’t know.”

The boys share a look over her head. Donghyuck doesn’t imagine his fear mirrored in Jeno’s face. 

“Um,” Donghyuck stutters, “I think we should take you to the security stand, then. They can do a better job at finding your mom.”

“No.”

“No?” Donghyuck doesn’t like this.

“Mr. Lee said to take you to the back,” the little girl informs them.

Wonderful, Donghyuck thinks, Mr. Lee wants us to go to the back. 

They bypass the tents, the food stands, and the crowd. Every step takes them further from safety and closer to what Renjun would classify as a life-threatening situation. Precisely the kind of situation Renjun had warned them about. Then again, Donghyuck doubts Renjun knew this was going to happen. He never would’ve let them come here if he had.

They reach the staff tents, where a red cord separates the public spaces from the private area. The little girl stops in front of the cord and nods them forward, saying, “I won’t be waiting with you.”

Donghyuck and Jeno share another glance. Jeno unlatches the cord, holding it to the side so Donghyuck can step through, and latches it again once they’re both inside. They turn to look at the little girl, who grins. Sharp fangs poke out from her bottom lip.

“Do you even have a mom?” Donghyuck snaps. It’s harsh, but he’s beyond caring.

“No,” the little girl says simply before walking away.

Jeno sighs. “Well, what now?”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m hanging around here just to wait for that Mr. Lee,” Donghyuck says matter-of-factly. “We’re in the back, right? Let’s do what we came here to do.”

The staff tents are deserted, as far as they can see. Donghyuck peeks into a few tents here and there, but sees nothing interesting: two tents are clearly dressing rooms, if Donghyuck were to judge by the mirrors and piles of clothes draped over chairs; a few other tents have cots, blankets, pillows, and dressers, so he supposes those are the tents where they sleep.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Jeno murmurs next to his ear.

Donghyuck agrees wholeheartedly. At first glance, the staff quarters seem normal – unassuming. There’s nothing there that could indicate anything dangerous or illegal takes place behind closed doors. 

Except for two things: one, Donghyuck knows from first-hand experience that this isn’t true. Two, the untrained eye wouldn’t see this – hell, a normal person wouldn’t see this – but Donghyuck spies traces of blood on almost all the surfaces.

“Jeno,” Donghyuck gulps, “Are you seeing those?”

“Yeah.”

They keep walking. In the distance, Donghyuck hears the cheers of the crowd, along with the booming voice of an announcer – the show has begun. Beyond the treeline, the sun begins to set.

“Do you think,” Donghyuck starts to question, then halts mid-sentence. “Do you think they have more?”

“More what?” 

“Kids. Kids like us,” he clarifies.

Jeno sucks in a harsh breath. Donghyuck looks at him, thinking he’s upset about the idea of the Neo Circus taking more children, but finds that Jeno’s eyes are trained on something ahead of them.

Two someones, in fact.

Donghyuck doesn’t recognize them at first glance. They’re too far away for him to see any distinguishing features – as a matter of fact, his first thought is that they’re busted. He worries about where to run, where to hide, until they come into focus, and the air rushes out of his lungs. 

The kids see them within seconds. Chenle is the first to approach them, walking quickly toward them with a troubled expression, and Jisung follows him at a slower pace.

“What are you doing here?” Chenle hisses.

Jeno’s face suggests he’s looking at a ghost. Jisung’s expression is much the same, underneath the soot and grime covering most of his face. 

“We were brought here,” Donghyuck stutters, “by a little girl – are you okay?”

Chenle’s temple is bleeding. It’s hardly visible beneath his shaggy hair and the dirt, but Donghyuck sees the trickle of blood steadily reaching for his neckline. Jisung appears the same, his tattered shirt ripped on the side.

“We’re fine,” Chenle dismisses. He throws a glance over his shoulder, as if to make sure they’re still alone. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Only if you come with us,” Jeno counters.

Jisung shakes his head. He hasn’t said a word the entire time, can barely look either of them in the eye. 

“We’ve been through this,” Chenle says. “Weeks ago, you asked us to come with you, and I said yes, it didn't work — I accept that it wasn't meant to be. That hasn’t changed.”

“Why not?” Donghyuck insists, staring at each of them individually. The hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and his gut is telling him to get the hell out of there, but he ignores it for the time being. “We can protect you, I promise.”

Chenle avoids eye contact. Jisung directs his gaze to the ground, shifting restlessly. 

“It isn’t me I’m worried about,” Chenle whispers. “Leave. Run. Get the fuck away from this circus before it’s too late.”

“But –”

“It’s not a debate,” Chenle interrupts him. “We didn’t risk our lives for you so you could come back here and ruin it.”

It feels like a slap to the face. Jeno makes a wounded sound, stumbling back. Behind them, the crowd sheers. 

“Please,” Donghyuck whispers, reaching out. Chenle moves out of reach, taking Jisung with him.

Someone else approaches them. Donghyuck hears their footsteps on the gravel first, followed by a whistle of approval. He spins around and comes face to face with someone he knows, deep down, that he hoped to never see again.

“Well, isn’t that touching?” the man coos. His eyes glow red beneath shaggy brown hair. “Looks like the boys finally learned their place.”

Jisung makes as if to step in front of Chenle at the same time the other boy throws an arm out to stop him. The man smiles sardonically, watching them for a second longer before he directs his attention to Donghyuck and Jeno.

“I’m going to give you a head start,” he says to them. “How does that sound? Ten seconds, and then I’ll come after you.”

Jeno doesn’t budge, and neither does Donghyuck. The man raises an eyebrow, grinning still, a single fang poking out of his smile. 

“No?” he asks. Donghyuck can’t pin it down, but something about his voice chills him in a way his eyes and fangs don’t. “Pity – I enjoy a chase.”

Before either of them can think, Donghyuck’s airways shut down. He clutches his throat, choking, while Jeno drops to his knees. Tears blur Donghyuck’s vision and his lungs burn, as if they were filled with acid.

It stops in an instant.

The man’s sharp eyes travel to the boys standing next to them. “Chenle,” he warns, “You know what happens when you interfere with adult business.”

Donghyuck gasps, helping Jeno stand on his feet. He can still feel the ghost of whatever that man did to them, but he has more pressing matters to tend to. Chenle shields Jisung once more, raising his chin in defiance.

“Get out of here,” Jisung says urgently. “We’ll be fine.”

Donghyuck would argue, except that hasn’t worked for them. And, more importantly, Jeno seizes his wrist and takes off running in the opposite direction, toward the crowd. Donghyuck hears the man curse, followed by pounding footsteps behind them.

They run until they reach the crowd, and then some more. Donghyuck slams into a couple of people, and Jeno knocks over a food stand, but they don’t slow down for a second. Donghyuck knows that slowing down now would be the final nail in their coffin.

The exit is ahead of them. Jeno’s grip tightens, and his pace hastens. They’re close enough to the exit that they can see the parking lot.

Except they don’t make it to the parking lot. 

The clowns are blocking the gates. They’re entertaining a gaggle of kids, blowing balloons and playing tricks, but several of them grin and wave directly at Donghyuck and Jeno. 

“Fuck,” Donghyuck curses through tears. 

Jeno doesn’t waste another second and changes direction. They barrel past a family and run for the wired fence closing off the circus from the park, running along its length while looking for an opening. 

There’s no one around here. Donghyuck fights off the panic and the bile rising in his throat, forcing himself to focus on finding a way out of the circus. Jeno’s panting, their bodies not apt for running this much – they’re still too skinny, too underfed, their muscles unused to so much physical exercise. Donghyuck can’t tell which one of them stumbles first, but the next thing he knows, they’re on the ground, eating dirt.

Donghyuck hears the crunch of gravel beneath a pair of shoes, followed by, “You should’ve taken the head start I offered.”

And then he stops breathing again. 


	5. PART 2: THE MISSING YEAR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **body horror, abusive parents, mentions of alcohol abuse, murder**

Covering his head with a pillow is useless, Yangyang admits bitterly. The fluffy fortress from his childhood doesn’t protect him now – it never has, if he wants to be honest. As a kid, he could pretend like his blankets and pillows were a shield, and that they could keep him out of harm’s way. 

Yangyang was a fan of building fortresses when he was a child. He would take the biggest blankets, the cosiest pillows, drape them over chairs in the living room, and spend the entire day in there if he so wanted. He would read his favourite comic books, drink the hot cocoa his mom made for him, or nap. It used to be the highlight of his weekends. Yangyang felt invincible in there, as if the sheets were walls protecting him from the monsters beyond.

Yangyang is eighteen years old, now. He knows that belief was as stupid as Santa Claus or the Tooth Fairy.

Another yell comes from the living room, followed by a dull thud. Something crashes to the ground. Yangyang forgets everything he just thought about his pillow and burrows further under the covers, his pillow wrapped around his head to block out the noise. It doesn’t work very well.

They’ve been going at it for three hours – Yangyang tries not to keep count, but he can’t help it sometimes. It started out as it often does: his father walked into the house, wasted out of his mind, and ripped Yangyang a new one. Something about his grades or maybe about the fight that he, unjustly, found himself dragged into earlier in the day. It was hard to follow his ramblings, though, his speech slurred and hiccupy.

Yangyang escaped to his room the first chance he got, after dinner. He doesn’t think they noticed his absence, too busy arguing with each other. At this point, his father no longer cared about how well he did in school or about the bruised eye his son was sporting thanks to that asshole from the public school in the other district.

A thunder bolt shakes the house to its foundations. Yangyang pokes his head out to look at his window, realising with a jolt that it’s pouring. It’s unbelievable to think, but somehow his parents’ screams had drowned out the storm.

Yangyang debates getting out of bed to close his window. His desk is already soaked (not that he had anything of importance in it) and it seems like such a long trip, too – he knows it’s only five steps from his bed to the window, but he’s exhausted, and his body feels as if an invisible force is weighing him down. 

He decides against closing the windows, thinking, who cares, right? Let it rain, it doesn’t change a thing.

The yelling ceases after a while. Yangyang falls into a fitful sleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. It continues to hail outside, the wind whistling, and stray droplets of rain hit his bed during particularly strong gusts of air.

The clock reads 2:13 a.m. when Yangyang bolts awake. He isn’t sure what woke him – he scans his bedroom, alarmed, and finds nothing. His window is still open, and there’s a poodle of water on the ground. Yangyang lies back in his bed, notes with distaste that his pillow is wet as well, but doesn’t make a move to change the pillow case.

At 2:17 a.m., he hears a sound from the hallway. Yangyang is wide awake by now, staring at the shadows on his ceiling. If it were his father, the sound would’ve been louder, loud enough to wake the whole neighbourhood. If it were his mother, she wouldn’t have made a sound. 

Maybe someone broke in, Yangyang thinks. It’s a ridiculous notion, considering there’s nothing of value in this house. He thinks he should check it out, but the idea is almost laughable – Yangyang is skinny, clumsy, and just had his ass handed to him by an eighth grader with anger issues. He could never take on a burglar.

Yangyang strains his ears for another ten minutes, but doesn’t hear anything else and he allows himself to relax. He’s heating up in spite of the weather, so he drops his blanket to the ground. It lands on a track of water and he dreads having to get up in the morning to clean everything up.

With a groan, Yangyang drags himself out of bed and closes the window. He notes with disdain that their backyard is already nothing but a muddy landslide, a disaster waiting to happen. He knows he’s going to be the one dealing with it tomorrow, too.

Yangyang also notices the way the trees sway in the wind, and all thoughts of annoyance halt momentarily. Yangyang isn’t scared of storms, per se, but he must admit that he doesn’t like how the trees appear three seconds away from landing on their rooftop. The old chestnut tree in their neighbour’s yard, in particular, is leaning precariously to the side.

Well. Nothing he can do about that, can he? Yangyang sighs, shakes his head, and returns to bed, subconsciously praying that nothing happens to their house during the night.

He must have fallen asleep at some point. Yangyang yawns and the clock on his bedside table reads 3 a.m. Lightning illuminates his room – and he sees his window is open again.

Yangyang freezes. Panic builds in his throat, making his sight blur, and he blinks repeatedly to ensure he’s seeing things correctly. The window remains open. Yangyang glances around his room but sees nothing out of the ordinary, and he relaxes for a second – he’s been sleeping on and off, maybe he imagined he closed the window, or he dreamt it. It wouldn’t be the first time it happens.

Except for one little detail: muddy footsteps, trailing from his window to his bedroom door. 

More thunder, followed by a lightning bolt that strikes so close to his house that Yangyang can almost taste the static. His mother’s wind chime on the porch sounds strangely loud in the night. 

Yangyang peeks over the edge of his bed, notices the mud on his blanket, and sits upright in fright. The fabric is bunched up, clearly rearranged to simulate its previous shape, but they can't fool Yangyang so easily.

There’s someone under his bed.

Don’t panic, he tells himself. If you panic, it’s game over. Yangyang glances toward his bedroom door and entertains the idea of making a run for it, but he has a feeling there’s someone waiting for him on the other side. He could hide in the closet, but that wouldn’t do any good, either – whoever is under his bed could catch him. 

There is only one option left, and it isn’t his favourite. Yangyang locks his eyes on the open window, his heart pounding in his ears. His parents are still in their bedroom, unaware of the invaders in their house. Yangyang couldn’t give two shits about his father, but his mom… Yangyang twists his mouth and steels his nerves. 

Yangyang shifts so he’s on his knees, careful not to make any noise. He doesn’t know if the intruder underneath his bed can tell he’s moving around, or if he knows he’s awake, and he worries about how long it will take them to find out. 

He only has one chance to do this. Yangyang licks his lips, tasting the tangy sweat that’s accumulated over his cupid’s bow, and bolts from his bed. His leg almost catches on the edge of the bed sheet that has come free from the mattress, and he bangs his shin on his desk, but Yangyang is halfway out his window within seconds. The rain is cold, the wind even colder, and Yangyang shudders as he worms his way to the yard.

Yangyang could run to the neighbour’s house and ask for help. Most people on this street don’t give a shit about each other, except for the old man next door – he’s helped them before, he could help them today. He’ll ask the man to call the police for him, and hopefully they will arrive in time, before the intruders can do any harm to his mother.

Someone catches his ankle at the last second.

Yangyang screams in terror and kicks out, to no avail – whoever it is has an iron grip on him, dragging him back inside his room. Yangyang scrambles to grab a hold of his window frame, his nails scratching at the wood in desperation. It isn’t long before Yangyang is on his bedroom floor, his head pounding and his fingers bleeding, and staring up at the intruder. 

He screams again, still terrified as a kid faced with the monster under his bed, but for a different reason.

His attacker grins, and it’s a shark-like grin, down to the endless row of teeth and the bloodstains on the otherwise pearly white surfaces. It makes Yangyang want to hurl. Her eyes glow red, like an animal’s.

The door opens and in comes another person, a man this time. Yangyang knows he’s still shouting, but it falls to the backburner as he realises that this man also has blood on his face, trailing down to his chest. Vaguely, Yangyang wonders if he comes from his parents’ room.

“Shut him up,” the man sighs. “He’ll wake the entire neighbourhood like this.”

The woman clamps a muddy hand over Yangyang’s mouth, effectively silencing him. Yangyang tastes the sweat and dirt from her skin and he retches, but he knows it’s in his best interest to keep his stomach contents inside. 

“Make another sound, and your parents pay for it,” the woman says. Yangyang nods, slowly, and she removes her hand. He stays quiet.

The man throws something on the ground. Yangyang doesn’t dare glance to the side, but he doesn’t need to – the woman picks it up, and then Yangyang’s hands are tied together with rope. His feet suffer the same fate, and then Yangyang is hoisted up like a sack of potatoes, thrown over the man’s shoulders.

Yangyang complies for a full minute. They exit his room and go down the dingy hallway, where the man ‘accidentally’ bangs Yangyang’s head against a wall – he says oops, but he’s laughing. 

Once outside his house, however, Yangyang screams bloody murder. It’s futile, lost in the rush of the wind and the rain, and he’s certain a hurricane is about to form overhead, but it’s worth a shot. It’s certainly loud enough to scare his kidnappers, because the man shoves a cloth into his mouth – Yangyang doesn’t know where it comes from, and thinks it’s better not to ponder on it.

Yangyang kicks and twists in his hold, wishing he could bite. The man doesn’t blink, isn’t bothered by his struggling. Soon, Yangyang feels himself fly, then land harshly on something hard. His head takes the most damage, and the world turns black.

* * *

When he comes to, there's a blindfold covering his eyes, and a bag over his head.

_Bit of an overkill_ , Yangyang thinks. His hands have been tied again behind his back, his fingers grazing someone else's, and his feet are, as far as he can tell, shackled.

"What the fuck," Yangyang mutters. He flexes his hands, but foreign fingers clamp down awkwardly around his. 

"Don't move." The stranger's voice is soft, high-pitched. "They tied us up so if one moves, it hurts the other. So, please, _don't move."_

Yangyang stops moving. He can't see anything, not even a sliver of light through the cloth, and he fights down the urge to cry. His arms and legs have gone numb, and he doubts it's due to the restraints.

"What the fuck," he repeats, a little louder this time. 

A different voice answers him. "Welcome to the club." This one is gruffer, low. Yangyang thinks he sounds familiar, but he can't pinpoint it.

As the world comes back into focus, Yangyang hears sniffling. It doesn't come from him — Yangyang can't remember the last time he cried — nor does it come from the guy attached to his back. His head is pounding, he can feel something trickling down his forehead, and he's upset — the crying doesn't help.

Yangyang grits his teeth, biting down on a mean comment that's bubbling up his throat. 

"Hey, kid," a third voice says, "What do you think that smell is?"

Yangyang sniffs. He can't smell much past the bag over his head, which smells faintly of corn, but he thinks he knows what he means.

"Smells like blood," Yangyang says, puzzled. "Iron."

The boy attached to his back laughs, perhaps closer to hysteria than amusement. "Just our luck! We're kidnapped by serial killers."

"Maybe they're a cult," the second voice pipes up. "They looked culty enough when they took me."

"They didn't look like a cult to me," Yangyang murmurs. "They didn't even look human."

“That’s probably the fear,” the third voice says. “You were scared, so you–”

“Excuse me,” Yangyang cuts in, harsher than he intended, “But I know what I saw. Humans don’t have that many teeth.”

Someone snorts. Yangyang rolls his eyes and wishes he could show his contempt. Whoever was crying earlier has stopped, and it goes quiet – Yangyang wonders where they are. The floor beneath him is hard, dirty, and they sway every few minutes, so he guesses they’re in a car.

“Any idea where we’re headed?” Yangyang asks. He doesn’t expect an answer, but he can’t take the silence. 

“Maybe Disneyland,” says the guy with the gruff voice. The more he talks, the more Yangyang thinks he sounds like he swallowed a hot rod. “Or Neverland.”

“You know, there’s no need to be so sarcastic,” Yangyang bites back.

“I’m more concerned about that storm outside,” the guy attached to his back says.

Yangyang should ask for their names.

“Hey, what are your names, anyway?”

“Seriously?” Gruff asks. 

“Why not? I’m Yangyang, I’d say it’s a pleasure but it isn’t.”

Yangyang hears someone sigh. “I’m Jaemin,” says the third voice.

“Donghyuck,” says the boy attached to him.

“Jeno,” says Gruff.

Yangyang waits for the last boy to say his name, but a minute passes and he doesn’t make a peep. 

“His name is Renjun,” Donghyuck says in his steed. “I think they did something to him – he was bleeding when they brought him, and his legs...”

“Maybe he saw what I saw,” Yangyang says, because being petty is one of his strengths. 

Another sigh. Yangyang guesses it must be Jaemin, and he’s proven right when he asks, “What did you see?”

“Their teeth…” Yangyang shakes his head, “They had too many teeth. And they were stained red, like blood.”

“I didn’t even see them,” Jeno says, a hint of a laugh in his tone. “I was trying to sneak back in when someone grabbed me from behind, put a bag over my head and dragged me into this car.”

“Did anyone see what kind of car this is?” Jaemin asks. 

“It’s a van.”

Yangyang startles. He didn’t think Renjun would be speaking anytime soon, and yet he just said three whole words. 

“Like, a white van, like a kidnapper’s?” Jeno asks, gentler than how he spoke to the others – his voice changes, and Yangyang feels strangely as if he’s heard his voice before. Renjun doesn’t answer him.

“That’s just cliché,” Donghyuck murmurs. 

The van takes a sharp turn, jostling them around. Yangyang slides across the floor, or maybe Donghyuck does, but they’re tied together and they topple each other as they hit the other side of the van. Yangyang hits someone, his knee makes contact with his nose, and he’s sure he hears a crunch just as excruciating pain explodes in the centre of his face.

“What the hell!” Jeno exclaims. 

Another turn. They’re thrown side to side, each turn sharper and more sudden than the previous one, and Yangyang hits his head more times than he can count. But that isn’t the worst part – what hurts most are his arms and wrists. Donghyuck was right, any little movement one does will hurt the other. Yangyang is surprised his hand doesn’t detach from his wrist.

He’s fairly certain they used barbed wire to tie them up. Yangyang feels blood trickling over his hands, both his and Donghyuck’s alike. There shouldn’t be anything in his stomach, and yet he feels all its contents lurch to his throat. 

Beyond the confines of the van, thunder claps. The baby hairs on the base of Yangyang’s neck stand, his teeth chatter, and there’s a flash of white so blinding that Yangyang can see it through the layers covering his head. 

The van takes another turn. Yangyang hangs in the air, his lungs stop, and he crashes back down. His head knocks against Donghyuck’s, a stray foot kicks him in the ribs, and then it’s over. 

Yangyang tastes the blood from his broken nose. His shoulder throbs painfully, as do his ribs. Donghyuck’s moaning quietly, interrupted by someone’s cries of pain – it sounds like Jaemin, if Yangyang listens closely. 

Wherever they are, it’s raining. Rain pelts down on the van, heavy enough to make dull thudding sounds, as if it were raining ice cubes. 

There’s the sound of metal screeching against metal, and then the inside of the van is colder than before. Yangyang can glimpse lights ahead of them, and he clearly hears dozens of voices shouting over each other.

One voice rises above the others. “Bring them out. Make sure they didn’t break their necks.”

Before Yangyang can even register the words, someone grabs the chains around his ankles and drags him across the floor of the van. Donghyuck screams at the sudden movement, and Yangyang feels like throwing up as his shoulder flares in pain.

Yangyang’s theory of their kidnappers not being human is, once again, correct. One person grabs them both – Yangyang knows it’s just one, because there’s one arm wrapped around his waist and the other must be carrying Donghyuck – and dumps them on wet ground.

As the rain continues to hit the ground – not ice cubes, as Yangyang thought, but big, heavy raindrops that hurt him where they collide with his skin – their companions meet the same fate; Jaemin’s pained cry sounds to Yangyang’s right. 

“They’re fine,” someone says. 

“Yuta?” another voice asks, the same voice that ordered to remove them from the van. 

“That one has a dislocated shoulder and bruised ribs, and a broken nose.” Yangyang guesses this is Yuta. “The small one broke both his legs, although I think it wasn’t from the accident. That one has three fractured ribs. That one has a bruised neck – he could’ve snapped his neck. The other one has a concussion, but no broken bones.”

“Anything lethal?” the leader asks. At least, Yangyang supposes he’s the leader.

“No, no internal bleeding. They’ll be fine – eventually,” he adds sardonically. 

Footstep, coming their way. Yangyang can’t be sure, but he thinks they’re on grass – mud would make a sloshing sound. The steps stop in front of Yangyang, and then he can feel a stranger’s body heat in front of him.

They remove the bag from his head, followed by the blindfold. Yangyang blinks against the sudden onslaught of light – car headlights, many of them – and the water running down his face. 

The person in front of him considers him momentarily. Yangyang can’t bear to make eye contact, so he keeps his gaze trained on the ground, on the dirtied boots and pants. The man moves on, does the same to the other boys. 

“Load them up,” the man barks, standing up again. “Have you found the little bastard?”

“There’s no sign of Dejun anywhere,” someone denies. “He must have used that last thunder to get away.”

Yangyang dares lift his eyes for a second. He can’t see much through the glare of the headlights, but he glimpses a metallic cage before absolute panic takes over his mind and he can’t think. 

A man with pink hair and unnaturally pale skin picks up the smallest of them – Yangyang thinks it’s Renjun, since he’s the only one of them that isn’t tied up to anyone else – and unceremoniously dumps him in the cage. Renjun’s crying, his legs bent at unnatural angles, and Yangyang, through the haze of pain and fear clutching at his chest, feels enraged for him. 

Someone else grabs him and Donghyuck, much as how they were carried off the van. Yangyang does the best he can to avoid touching Renjun’s legs, but the cage is cramped and he can’t help it. Renjun’s growing fainter by the second, his face pale – Yangyang hopes he doesn’t die.

If it was a tight fit before, Yangyang wasn’t ready for them to add Jeno and Jaemin to the mix. This cage isn’t built for five grown boys, which means they’re squeezed together, and with their added injuries, there isn’t much they can do to give each other the space they need. Yangyang feels Donghyuck’s sweat coating into his back, he can smell someone’s urine, and his shoulder burns.

He passes out. The world swims in and out of focus. One second they’re on the field, the next someone’s hollering, “Give me a hand here!” and the next they’re on the back of a truck. The cage next to theirs has a living, breathing lion – Yangyang nearly shits his pants when he opens his eyes and sees its open mouth too close to him for comfort.

When he finally regains full consciousness, they’re on the move again. The lion has fallen asleep, as have his companions – then again, Yangyang knows it’s more likely they passed out, just as he did. Donghyuck’s head is on his good shoulder, his wet hair tickling his neck. 

The truck drives over a set of potholes, each one bigger than the last, and Yangyang curses in his head as each bounce makes his shoulder hurt. It isn’t raining anymore, and it’s quiet. The truck stinks of animal shit, piss, and wet fur, like a petting zoo but smack dab on your face. 

It's too dark to see much. They drive under streetlights, and it's enough to illuminate the inside of the truck for a brief second or two.

“Do you think they’ll find him?”

Yangyang perks up, straining his ears to hear better. It sounds like the conversation comes from the front of the truck, from the driver’s seat. That was a woman speaking, Yangyang thinks

“Nah,” a man says. His voice is sweet like honey and familiar. “That shit is too powerful, didn’t you see that thunder? The lightning?”

“Sooyoung’s a pretty good locater,” the woman says, “I’m sure she can track him down.”

“How much do you want to bet he’s out of the country by the morning?”

“I’m not betting with you, Baekhyun.”

“Ah, Wendy, you’re no fun,” Baekhyun says, faux sad.

“Besides,” Wendy stresses, “Taeyong isn’t gonna let him get away so easily, right?”

Silence. Yangyang waits for Baekhyun to reply, but it never comes. 

Yangyang closes his eyes. He has no idea what he just heard – did they just imply that someone caused that storm? The boss from earlier asked if they had caught ‘the little bastard’ and the reply mentioned a Dejun. Now, Baekhyun and Wendy were discussing the possibilities of finding a ‘shit’, a boy. 

In both instances, they implied this Dejun guy caused the storm, but that’s impossible. 

_Or is it?_ He asks himself. 

He saw their teeth. He saw their eyes. Someone carried two grown teenage boys by themselves, and they weren’t one of those creepy jacked up guys on steroids with more muscles than bones. 

Yangyang groans, his head pounding. He feels like he’s in a nightmare that he can’t wake up from, and every inch of his body hurts as if someone ran him over with a bus. To his right, one of the boys – either Jeno or Jaemin – shifts in his sleep, his neck turning an ugly shade of purple. 

Before Yangyang knows it, he’s out.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, Yangyang comes face to face with a lion's cub. 

The little thing is only bigger than his hand, pitch black eyes looking up at him from the adjacent cage. The adult lion is asleep, its snores loud enough to wake an entire village. Under its arm, another cub sleeps peacefully. 

Yangyang groans, craning his neck side to side in an attempt to lose some of the stiffness. The cub doesn't look away from him for a second.

"What are you looking at?" Yangyang murmurs. He doesn't expect an answer. It wouldn't be crazy if the cub did reply, all things considered, but Yangyang doesn't expect it.

"Are you talking to the lion?"

Yangyang glances to the side. The boy's voice is gruff, tired. He must be Jeno. 

"So what if I am?" Yangyang shoots back. It comes out way raspier than he meant it. 

Jeno snorts. It's a painful sound, as if his airways are filled with soot. 

"Did something happen to your throat? Your voice?" Yangyang asks. He couldn't help himself.

"What are you talking about?"

"Every time you talk, it sounds like someone shoved a hot rod down your throat," Yangyang says. 

Jeno looks away. His eyes fall on Renjun's broken legs and he grimaces, shifting awkwardly where he sits. Yangyang avoids looking at that boy for the same reason — the sight of a bone poking through skin is a little too gruesome for Yangyang to handle.

The truck runs over a pothole. Yangyang yelps as it makes him bounce, and he doesn't know how he feels about his shoulder not aching more at the movement.

"Let's just say I wouldn't go quietly," Jeno answers, leaving it at that.

Yangyang nods. He won't push if Jeno doesn't want to talk about it. Especially not under their circumstances. 

The cub continues to stare at him. Yangyang sticks his tongue out, and the cub mimics him. It's cute, but Yangyang can't focus on that. 

"It's almost sunrise," Jeno says quietly.

Yangyang can't see anything from his vantage point, but Jeno's facing the other side of the truck, toward the driver.

"How can you tell?"

"It's getting brighter. I can kind of see beyond my nose. How do you think you can see that lion?"

_Huh,_ Yangyang thinks. He hadn't noticed that, but Jeno's right: it is becoming brighter inside the truck. Not by much, but enough for Yangyang to have a glimpse of their travel mates.

There's a bird's cage hanging from the ceiling, swarming with butterflies. The rest of the truck is full of wooden boxes, all sealed shut. The more Yangyang thinks about it, the more familiar some of the voices they've heard become.

One of the boxes is close enough to their cage for Yangyang to take a look at the paper stapled to the side. In bold, green letters, it says **_Neo Circus_**.

Yangyang inhales sharply. It all rushes back to him. The male voice from the driver's seat is the same as the man that painted portraits for the kids at the circus. The female voice, Yangyang didn't recognise it, but he remembers a Wendy on the brochure, listed as a singer with a performance every day at noon.

And the boss, the man that gave all the orders earlier in the day, was definitely the ringmaster. Yangyang can't pinpoint it, but something about his mannerisms, his speech, it all adds up.

The truck stops. The tires screech obnoxiously loud, and Yangyang hears what sounds like an entire convoy following its lead.

Jeno and Yangyang meet eyes. Donghyuck is starting to wake up, Yangyang can feel him move minutely at his back, and Jaemin is groaning. Renjun's the only one that hasn't moved in hours.

He's still breathing, though, Yangyang reminds himself. He's still breathing. 

"Where are we?" Donghyuck mutters.

"No idea," Yangyang replies, just as quietly. 

A cacophony of voices outside the truck. Yangyang listens carefully, but he can't distinguish any words in particular. Then, the driver's door in the truck opens, followed by what Yangyang guesses are Wendy and Baekhyun climbing down from the cabin. 

Someone climbs back into the cabin. They turn off the engine, and with its steady humming gone, Yangyang can hear things a little better.

"We need to check the cars, sir," a male voice says. It's a heavy, firm tone, and it leaves no room for argument.

Behind Yangyang, Donghyuck makes a sound of muted excitement. "That's police procedure."

"What?" Jaemin whispers.

"If they want to cross state lines, they have to pass through the checkpoints or the tollgates. State troopers are required to look into trunks, cars, everything."

"How the hell do you know that?" Yangyang asks.

"My best friend's brother is a detective —"

A tap on the truck's metal doors interrupts him. "Open this one, ma'am."

Yangyang sits up eagerly. There isn't much between them and the double doors, surely the officer will see them.

The doors open. Yangyang squints, blinded by all the headlights outside the truck. He hears radio feedback, then the same officer from earlier says something about checking the last car.

He mounts the truck. Yangyang hears him wade through the boxes, as well as he sees the officer's flashlight illuminate every crook and cranny of the truck.

He's five steps away from the cage when he sees them. None of them dares speak, yell, move, or even breathe. Anticipation builds inside Yangyang like a dam, and he holds back the urge to cry.

The officer's face, or what Yangyang can see through the glare of the flashlight, contorts into an expression of horror. His hand on his radio in an instant, but as he begins to speak, to alert someone, a member of the circus appears behind him.

The newcomer is tall, strong. His eyes, unlike the others, are burning blue, and his hair is a wild mat of black curls. Yangyang remembers him as the man that swallows swords and fire. His hand falls on the officer's shoulder, and the officer turns to ash.

Yangyang can do nothing but gape. Where a police officer stood a second ago, there's nothing but a pile of black soot. There's nothing left of him, not even his radio. 

The man Yangyang has come to recognise as the ringmaster climbs onto the truck. He doesn't appear the least frazzled at being caught by a state trooper, and Yangyang realises it's because he knew how it would end — it was foolish of Yangyang to hope this would be their way out.

The ringmaster doesn't walk. He _prowls_ , slow and careful movements reminiscent of a cat — or a lion, if Yangyang wishes to be ironic. There isn't a blond hair out of place on his hair, and his expression is almost bored.

"Took care of it, I see," he says to his partner. "Thank you, Chanyeol. Do me a favour, have Yuta come here."

Chanyeol nods, tips his head. "Yes, sir," he says, far too upbeat for someone who just committed murder, and walks out of Yangyang's line of vision.

The ringmaster crouches in front of the cage. Yangyang tries to scamper away from him, but there's nowhere to run. The ringmaster stares at him, red eyes roaming over his face.

"You called for me, Yong?" 

This is Yuta, Yangyang assumes. He's more tattoos and piercings than person, so he isn't hard to miss; his role at the circus was some sort of daredevil stunt, one that Yangyang didn't care to watch.

"I want you to heal them," the ringmaster says, standing up. He circles the cage, examining each of them individually.

"Taeyong?" Yuta asks.

Taeyong stops behind Renjun and looks up at Yuta. Renjun's starting to wake from his unconscious state, and already Yangyang can make out the pained whimpers falling from his mouth.

"This one," Taeyong says, gripping a strand of Renjun's hair to lift his head. Renjun snaps his eyes open, nothing but fear in them. "His legs are shattered. If that bone finally breaches the skin, it could cause an infection, and infection leads to…?"

"Death," Yuta finishes his sentence.

Taeyong smiles, mocking. "Exactly. The one with the fractured ribs, too. If a rib pierces his lungs or heart, he's dead. Concussions shouldn't go untreated, or they could be deadly."

He stops, considering the last two. He points to Jaemin and says, "Bruised neck, correct? Nothing lethal, but still, it wouldn't be fair to leave him like that, would it?"

"Got it," Yuta snaps. He nods towards Yangyang and asks, "What about him?"

"Take a better look at him," Taeyong prompts.

If Yangyang was bothered before, he's pissed now. He doesn't like the tone they use when talking about them or their injuries, as if they were discussing the weather, and he certainly despises that Yuta looks at him as if he were a piece of meat.

A few seconds pass. There's a scathing comment on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of _if you take a photo it'll last longer_ , when Yuta's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

"He's healing already," he says, looking at Taeyong. The ringmaster claps, and it's the most condescending applause Yangyang has heard. "Fuck off, Taeyong."

"I could tell from his nose," Taeyong says, as if Yuta didn't just tell him off. "Back in the field, it was all purple and bumpy. It's almost back to normal now."

"His shoulder is almost healed, too," Yuta comments. Yangyang doesn't know what the hell they're talking about, until Yuta reaches out to grasp his dislocated shoulder.

Yangyang grimaces, expecting excruciating pain. But other than some discomfort, Yangyang doesn't feel any pain at all. The area's tender, bruised, but no dislocated shoulder.

"That," Yuta says, tightening his grip, "should've made him pass out."

"He's quick," Taeyong comments. 

"Yeah, I wonder just how fast."

Yuta stands up. He disappears for a minute, during which Taeyong waves at Jeno's disgruntled expression. Renjun's face is soaked in tears.

When Yuta returns, he has a Swiss knife in hand. Yangyang has nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and he's helpless as Yuta slices the knife across an expanse of his skin.

Blood oozes from the cut. Yangyang whines, feeling the sting of the cut and slightly lightheaded from all the blood he's lost tonight.

Yuta sits back on his haunches and waits. Yangyang curses him, loudly, but the man doesn't blink. Taeyong continues to circle the cage, taunting them individually. 

"Two minutes," Yuta announces at last. Yangyang doesn't know what he's talking about, but Jeno gasps and murmurs a colourful choice word. 

The cut's gone. Healed, actually. Yangyang can't see anything but a faint scar. He's light-headed for a whole different reason this time.

Taeyong approaches his side and leans in, close enough Yangyang can smell him. He's either going crazy, or Taeyong smells dead.

"Fascinating," he says. "Well, take care of the others."

As Yuta reaches for Donghyuck, someone else joins their party. There isn't any space left, considering the cage with the full grown lion and the crates, but she manages to squeeze in.

"What are we supposed to do with the dead body?" 

Taeyong looks at her in surprise. 

"The officer's partner?" She asks pointedly. "Irene snapped his neck right around the time the trooper tried to call for backup."

Donghyuck shouts. He sounds as if someone had ripped his spine out of his back in one move, and it terrifies Yangyang to his core.

"One down," Yuta announces cheerfully, moving on.

The woman rolls her eyes, exasperated, and not the least bit concerned about the writhing teenager in front of her.

"We also have to get rid of their car, find a way to delete any record of us in their GPS," she lists off.

"You worry too much, dear," Taeyong waves her off. 

"They took our plate numbers."

"We'll change plates. Besides, Ten can take care of most of it, right?"

She sighs. Yuta presses on Jaemin's neck and Yangyang sees him choke on a sob as the ugly bruising on his skin fades away.

"Finish with the other three, and meet me outside," Taeyong orders. "Put them to sleep when you're done. We have a car to burn, and I don't trust Chanyeol to keep himself in check."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **mentions of past character death, attempted sexual assault**

“Hey,” Donghyuck whispers, sneaking back into the tent before anyone can see him. “I convinced the churros kid to smuggle me some of those caramel sticks out of the deposit.”

Jeno looks up from the newspaper he borrowed from a passer-by. They’re somewhere in Cloudsville, where the sky is constantly cloudy and the apples abundant – according to the numerous ads on the back of the newspaper, at least. It’s been three days since they arrived to this town, and he’s yet to see the sky anything but clear.

“Did anyone see you?” Jeno asks. “You know that if Jaehyun or Irene catch a whiff of this –”

“I know, I know,” Donghyuck interrupts him. “It’s fine, they’re not around, they’re all at the show. Don’t worry about it, Jen.”

Jeno will worry about it, because that’s all he’s done the past five months. Especially since Taeyong decided they had to separate the five of them until further notice, so Jeno can’t even see them unless they pass each other outside the tents. 

“Here,” Donghyuck passes the bag of churros to him, and then plops down on the ground next to Jeno. The bag is still warm, sticky with caramel and chocolate syrup and Jeno’s mouth waters painfully – he hasn’t had a decent meal in over a week. “Bon appetit.”

Jeno smiles lightly. “Thanks, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck grins back, somehow cheerful in spite of the circumstances. His energy is contagious, another reason why Jeno enjoys having him around – it helps Jeno forget about their lives, if only for a short while. 

The dirt sticks to their pants, and Jeno keeps slapping his calves to get rid of the ants crawling up his legs. It’s getting chilly already, the leaves on the trees turning brown and orange, falling to the ground. The circus is advertising a special Halloween show for the end of the month, which they will celebrate in Cloudsville before they leave on the first of November.

Jeno knows exactly what happens during their special shows, or during the last performance at each town. He also knows what comes after the convoy leaves the town’s territory. 

They eat the churros in record time. Jeno doesn’t think they should be eating so quickly, given how little they’ve brought to their stomachs lately, but he’s too hungry to care. The churros are crunchy, sweet, and the syrup sticks to his fingers. 

“I bribed Chenle to get half of this to the others,” Donghyuck informs him, mouth half-full and with a mess of caramel smeared across his lips. “I hope Jaemin doesn’t mind that this thing has milk.”

“At this point?” Jeno asks. “I think he’d be willing to eat strawberries.”

It’s a dumb joke, Jeno knows. It’s also a small attempt at keeping their spirits up, since dumb jokes, at the expanse of each other and themselves, is one of the few things that keep them sane. Yet, Donghyuck snorts, a pretty smile blooming on his face for the first time in days. Jeno smiles back, laughing along because Donghyuck’s laughter is contagious.

“Did you see the size of the trees around here?” Donghyuck asks after a while. The churros are gone, as is the paper bag – Jeno stuffed it at the bottom of a trash can three tents away from where they are. 

“I have. Some of them have really nice apples,” Jeno sighs.

Donghyuck shoves him lightly, no heat behind it. “Don’t remind me. If we can sneak out of the tents one of these nights, we could –”

“No,” Jeno says firmly. “Stop sneaking out so much, you’re gonna get caught.” 

Donghyuck huffs. “I don’t have much of a choice, it’s not like they’re feeding us.”

“Then, let me do it. I’ll grab some apples for us.”

“Jeno, no offense, but you have the subtlety of a bull.”

Jeno elbows him in the ribs. Donghyuck elbows him back with a roll of his eyes, resting his head on Jeno’s shoulder. 

“It’s getting colder,” he says to Jeno. “I’m worried.”

“I’m sure we can get our hands on something to keep warm.” Jeno doesn’t believe a word that’s coming out of his mouth. “The lost and found box is always full of coats and gloves people leave behind.”

“I guess,” Donghyuck mumbles.

Jeno glances outside through the gaps in the tent. They’re too far from the action to see anyone, and Jeno can only hear a faint murmur of the loud crowd, but the treetops are right across from them. Even from afar, Jeno sees the round apples, and he wonders how much longer they’ll stay on the tree before autumn whisks them away.

“I saw Renjun the other day,” Jeno says, a feeble attempt at normal conversation. Donghyuck hums to show he’s listening. “Sicheng has him running errands for him, carrying the crates with the food for the animals.”

“Jaemin’s stuck washing the elephants,” Donghyuck adds. “And I think Yangyang is on clean up duty.”

“What about you?” Jeno asks. 

Donghyuck shrugs, the best he can with his face smooshed in the crook of Jeno’s neck. “Ever since they found out I did my own makeup for school plays, they’ve had me on stylist duty. There’s nothing more terrifying than holding an eyeliner stick to Irene’s eye,” he shudders.

“Try driving out to town with Taeyong to buy supplies,” Jeno counters. He doesn’t need to elaborate – that afternoon is etched in their minds for good. 

“Let’s call it a tie.”

Jeno smiles. Donghyuck’s ability to make him feel better must be his true power. 

The smile slips from his face, however, when he hears the leaves outside the tent crunch under the weight of someone’s boots. Donghyuck bolts upright, the terror in his eyes most likely reflected in Jeno’s own, but they relax when they see it’s only Jungwoo.

Jungwoo rolls his eyes when he sees they’re together, but he doesn’t reprimand them. He slips inside the tent, as graceful as a cat, and closes the flaps so they won’t be seen from outside. 

“You kids need to stop breaking the rules so often,” he warns them half-heartedly. “You don’t want Jaehyun or Taeyong finding out about this.”

“That’s why we’re subtle about it,” Donghyuck shoots back. “Don’t act as if you don’t let Renjun slip away from the zoo.”

Jungwoo waves him off. “Whatever, that’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

“What is it?” Jeno asks.

“I overheard some of the others talking this morning,” Jungwoo starts, scratching his belly through his shirt. He’s obviously not working at the circus this evening, because his usual purple suit and tie are gone. “They’re moving the five of you back together.”

“Really?” Donghyuck asks eagerly.

Except Jungwoo’s face suggests this is anything but a happy occasion.

“They’re keeping you in the tent near to theirs,” Jungwoo continues. “They lost three kids during the summer, and they’re going to replace them with you.”

Jeno sputters. “What? What are you…?”

Jungwoo sighs, looking off to the side. “I thought I should warn you. What’s coming for you… what they’re going to do, it isn’t pretty.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Donghyuck whispers. 

“After the show is over,” Jungwoo says, “Meet me behind the lion’s cage, all five of you. I’ll try to explain as best as I can.”

With that, he leaves the tent again, as quickly as he came. Donghyuck and Jeno meet eyes, but neither knows what that was about.

Later that night, after all the patrons have left the circus and most of the performers have retired for the night – save for the clowns, who like to hang around the grounds after dark, drinking hard alcohol and terrorising anyone they encounter – Jeno and Donghyuck sneak their way to the animal tents. 

Renjun is already lurking outside, pacing impatiently with a fingernail trapped between his teeth. He perks up when he sees them, his relief palpable in the air. Yangyang and Jaemin arrive last, with Yangyang covered in mud and Jaemin smelling like a petting zoo, so he must have been tending to the elephants.

“Jungwoo said something incredibly cryptic to you, too?” Jaemin asks. 

“Yeah,” Renjun nods. 

“Are you kids just gonna stand out here or are you coming in?”

At Jungwoo’s statement, they file into the tent. Jungwoo’s waiting for them just where he said he would, making faces at the lion cubs. 

“What did you want to tell us?” Jeno asks, cutting to the chase. He can’t do small talk, not now.

“Have you guys wondered why they take kids with abilities similar to theirs?” Jungwoo asks instead.

They look at each other, shrugging. 

“No idea,” Renjun says.

Jungwoo looks away from the cubs, glancing at them instead. “I’m not sure there’s a word for what they are. I know we all have powers – I can talk to animals, Yangyang can heal himself and others, and Donghyuck has something like telekinesis. But they’re different.”

“Different how?” Jaemin frowns.

“The circus is old. And while some of the workers here rotate in and out, the inner circle, guys like Taeyong, Jaehyun, Irene, Yuta, Seulgi… they’ve been here since the first day.”

“That’s impossible, they’re like twenty something,” Donghyuck says, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Are they?” Jungwoo raises his eyebrows. “I know they look like they are, but haven’t you noticed? The little things? They know how to blend in, how to fool the crowd, but they’re old.”

“How?” Renjun asks in a hush.

“That’s why I brought you here,” Jungwoo says. “I told you that they lost other kids kids – Dejun ran away, and Kunhang and the girls died before we left Vrais. They need to replace them.”

“Replace them for what?” Jeno presses. 

Jungwoo stares at them, his lips pressed into a thin line. Instead of replying verbally, he rolls the sleeves of his sweatshirt up to his elbows and shows them his forearms. 

At first glance, Jeno can’t see anything out of the ordinary. Jungwoo’s pale as a ghost, as he only leaves the tents after sundown, and he’s skinny because only the inner circle, as he called them, eat full meals three times a day. But that’s obviously not what he’s showing them, so Jeno takes a closer look.

To his right, Jaemin sucks in a sharp breath and curses, “Holy shit.”

Bite marks litter his arms. They’re thin, the scars pale, and they aren’t easy to see if you’re not looking for them. 

“They feed from us,” Jungwoo says, simple as that. “There’s something about our blood that keeps them young and strong. But they’re the only ones allowed to do it – most of the people that come work at the circus don’t live to tell the tale.”

Jeno feels faint. Jaemin collapses to the ground, sickly pale, and Donghyuck leans against the lion’s cage, uncaring that he’s so close to danger. It isn’t as if Jungwoo would allow the lion to hurt him, though.

“The fact that they’re moving you to the back means they want you near,” Jungwoo adds. “I think they’ve been out of meals for too long, so they need to make sure you’re close by. There is nothing,” he emphasises, “that I can tell you that can prepare you for it.”

“Those scars look old,” Yangyang says thickly. “Does that mean you haven’t…?”

“Not for a while,” is all Jungwoo says. “I’ve stuck around because they won’t let me go, and they know that if they kill me, these babies will have a feast of their own,” he pats the cage.

No one answers him. Jungwoo stares at a point above their heads, sighs, and continues, “Chenle and Jisung are their regulars, but they can’t feed from them too often, so they need you. There are ten of them in total, and two boys aren’t enough. I’m really sorry,” he whispers.

“This sucks,” Donghyuck murmurs.

“It really does,” Jungwoo agrees. “The only good news is that they’re gonna be feeding you a little more than usual, since they need you strong. There’s no use in feeding from you if you’re dying.”

“Yuppie,” Yangyang says, shaking his head. 

* * *

Jeno can’t see anything. As in, he can’t see anything past his nose, the world blurry around him. 

This is a new development. Back in the day, he only needed glasses to read, and late at night. He could get through an entire day without glasses or contact lenses without a problem. Sometimes, he would wear his glasses all day, but that was only when or if his eyes were tired – it usually happened if he spent hours on his phone.

However, ever since the circus began to feed from them, Jeno’s eyesight has become worse and worse. It started out as his sight growing tired around noon, and has deteriorated to the point where he can barely glimpse Renjun’s worried expression swimming in front of him.

“Your eyes,” Renjun says, serious as Jeno’s ever seen him – and that’s saying something. “What’s wrong with your eyes?”

“I can’t see,” Jeno admits shakily. “Everything’s blurry and out of focus.”

“Jeno, your eyes are white. I can barely see your pupils.”

“What?” Jeno breathes.

Renjun moves away from him to dig through their small box of belongings. It’s nothing more than cardboard box where they keep the things they’ve scourged through the weeks they’ve been here: extra layers of clothes to keep warm, a few pairs of socks, rundown shoes that Jaemin won’t tell them where he found, and a few other trinkets here and there. 

Jeno bites his nails while he waits for Renjun to return to his side. His hands won’t stop shaking, but he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or the nerves. There are barely any leaves left on the trees by now, according to Yangyang. 

“Here,” Renjun hands him a hand mirror. It’s cracked in a corner, and the frame is rusty. “Look.”

Renjun was right – Jeno’s eyes are pure white, his pupils shrunk to little dots in the centre. Jeno almost drops the mirror in his shock, with Renjun catching it at the last second. 

“What the hell,” Jeno gasps. 

“This might be the weirdest thing to happen to us so far,” Renjun says. At Jeno’s pointed stare, he adds, “Top ten. You really can’t see anything?”

“I can see shapes,” Jeno shakes his head, “and colours, but nothing’s defined.”

Renjun sits next to him, but he keeps a hand on his knee so Jeno knows he hasn’t gone anywhere. 

“How long has this been going on?” Renjun asks him.

“A while,” Jeno says. “It’s hard to keep track of the days, but it definitely started after they moved us here.” He doesn’t need to specify further, because Renjun knows what he means.

Renjun rubs the reddened scar on his neck. Jeno saw them take him last night, just before the show started, and he didn’t return until hours later – that’s how long it takes them to recover from the feedings on a good day. A bad day can leave them paralyzed for days at a time.

“Did you have eye problems before they took us?” 

Jeno nods. His eyes hurt from straining his sight, so he closes them for the time being. “Yeah, but nothing like this. I had glasses but I didn’t use them too often.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with this?”

“Maybe. But I doubt it.”

Renjun sighs, leaning closer to Jeno to share body heat. They don’t dare use any of the coats or gloves yet in fear of damaging them before winter comes, but Jeno won’t deny that he feels tempted to sneak one out of the box now. He can barely feel his fingers. 

“We could ask Jungwoo,” Renjun suggests meekly. “He’s answered our questions before, maybe he knows what this is about.”

“That’s if we can catch him alone,” Jeno mutters. 

Lately, Jeno hasn’t seen Jungwoo alone, not even once. He’s always with one or more members of the circus, particularly Yuta and Sicheng, and Jeno doesn’t dare approach him like that. He doesn’t know why they’re keeping an eye on him, but he suspects it has something to do with them. After all, they can’t be too happy he’s told them some of their secrets.

“Do you think we got him in trouble?” Renjun whispers. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Jeno says. He won’t lie and say they didn’t. “I don’t think they like that he’s told us so much.”

“It’s not as if we wouldn’t have found out sooner or later, anyway.”

“They were probably counting on the later, at least until they had us under control.”

Renjun shifts uncomfortably. “You mean, even more controlled than they do now? We can’t even outrun them, we’re barely getting enough food to survive. Even then, they’re faster and stronger. I don’t know what else they could possibly want from us.”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Jeno says. 

“I think,” Renjun hesitates, “I think they’re scared we’ll do something if they don’t stop us.”

“What could we possibly do to them?”

Renjun doesn’t answer at first. He tenses, and Jeno worries he offended him somehow, until Renjun finally says, “I’ve been catching glimpses of the future,” so quietly Jeno almost misses it.

“Excuse me?”

“The other day,” Renjun whispers, “Before Seulgi came here to get Yangyang, I saw it. It was like a dream, but I was awake. It felt so real,” he shudders.

“So you have powers? Like Yangyang and Hyuck?” Jeno asks, just to make sure.

“I guess so, yeah.”

Jeno hums, opening his eyes again. He still can’t see very well, although he does notice it’s getting darker, now. It’s probably close to show time, Jeno supposes. He doesn’t like that idea. Nothing good ever happens during night time around here. 

“Do you know who they’re taking tonight?” Jeno ventures to ask.

Renjun nods shakily. “I think it’s Jaemin.”

Jeno sighs, leaning his head back. He feels selfish, and like the worst person ever, but he’s relieved it isn’t him. He still hasn’t recovered from the last time they fed from him, and he isn’t ready to go through that again.

Renjun glances up sharply. Jeno follows his line of vision, though futile, and opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong when someone else joins them inside the tent.

“Jisung,” Renjun says, the relief palpable in his voice. “It’s just you. What’s up?”

Jisung is one of two kids that have been at the circus longer than they have. He’s taller than Jeno, skinny, and perpetually terrified of his own shadow. 

“Donghyuck asked me to give you this,” Jisung says, giving something to Renjun. Then, he splutters, “Shit, what happened to your eyes?”

“We don’t know,” Jeno says. 

Jisung leans closer. Jeno tries to make eye contact, although he doubts he’s successful. 

“Can you see?” Jisung asks. 

“Not much, no. It was better during daylight.”

Jisung nods, backing away. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

After he’s gone from the tent, Jeno clicks his tongue and says, “That was weird.”

“Weirder than usual?” Renjun snorts. 

“Yeah. Although,” Jeno tilts his head in consideration, “At least he announced he would be leaving. He didn’t use to do that.”

True to his words, Jisung returns soon enough. This time, he crouches in front of Jeno, holding something in his hands. 

“I found these in my tent the other day,” Jisung explains, handing Jeno a pair of glasses. “Doyeon wore them.”

“Thanks,” Jeno attempts a smile. The glasses work, miraculously, which means he can see Jisung’s troubled expression in high definition. “Jisung, do you know what’s causing this?”

Jisung licks his lips. “I think so, yeah. I mean, I have a theory.”

“Wanna share it with the class?” Renjun asks.

Jisung clearly doesn’t want to share his ideas, but he has nowhere to run. He sits cross-legged on the dirt in front of them, glancing over his shoulder before he speaks.

“Do you… have you heard of the girls that were here, before you?” Jisung waits for them to nod. “Okay, well, something similar happened to Doyeon before she…”

“Died?” Jeno finishes the thought for him. 

“Yeah. But it wasn’t because of it!” he rushes. “I mean, I’m pretty sure they were caused by the same thing, but they weren’t related. What I mean is,” Jisung sighs, “Doyeon had something like this happen to her eyes, and it was because of the feedings.”

“Jisung, you’re not making any sense,” Jeno says.

Jisung blushes deeply. “When they feed too much from us,” he says slowly, “something happens to us, something related to our powers. Doyeon’s ability to see things miles ahead started to falter, and soon enough she couldn’t see anything at all. The glasses helped, but she couldn’t use her powers anymore.”

“And her death?” Jeno’s almost too afraid to ask. 

“Blood loss,” Jisung shrugs. “They got ahead of themselves one night and drained her. It had nothing to do with her eyes.”

It isn’t reassuring, per se, but Jeno relaxes minutely. 

“This is great,” he mutters. “I’m going blind.”

Renjun taps his fingers on Jeno’s knee; something Jeno supposes is a nervous tic of sorts. “Maybe not. You said she lost her vision because they were feeding from her? How does that work?”

“I’m not sure,” Jisung admits. “But I’ve seen it before, a few times. When they… when they overly fixate on someone, for whatever reason, they usually end up getting hurt because of it. It happened to Jungwoo, too, about two years ago.”

Jeno and Renjun meet eyes. Jeno knows they’re both thinking the same thing: this is what Jungwoo wouldn’t tell them.

“It’s usually related to their powers,” Jisung continues. “For Jungwoo, he couldn’t control the lions one time during practice and they nearly ate half the staff.”

“Lions?” Renjun echoes. “There were more?”

Jisung nods, glancing away from them. “Yeah, there were. Yuta killed them – he gave them an embolism or something like that.”

Jeno gapes, because that’s the best reaction he can give to that. Next to him, Renjun does the same. 

“Why do they fixate on someone, though?” Jeno asks. 

“I guess it has to do with their blood,” Jisung says, although he poses it more as a question. “Some people probably have better tasting blood, or it’s more fulfilling?”

“Or,” Renjun suggests, speaking lower, “maybe some are more powerful, so their blood works better.”

Jisung nods, thoughtful. “I guess that could be it. Doyeon was really strong, and Jungwoo can control any animal or bug.”

“They’ve been keeping Jungwoo in a tight leash,” Jeno says. “Do you know what that’s about?”

“You know how I said he lost control once and a lion almost ate people?” Jisung asks. “Well, it happened again, except this time it was on purpose.”

“Seriously?” Renjun gasps.

“He insists it was an accident, but no one buys it. I think the only reason they haven’t killed him off like they have done the others is that they can’t be sure the animals won’t go batshit on us once he’s gone.”

“That’s possible?”

“Seulgi isn’t sure,” Jisung says, “But she thinks he might have some sort of mental lock on them. If he dies, and that lock disappears, the animals might eat us all for good. Not an ideal situation. And Yuta says he might not be able to stop them like last time.”

In the distance, a horn blows. Jisung sits up in haste, rushing out of the tent without another word. 

“It must be show time,” Renjun sighs. Jisung’s participation in the circus usually comes in the way of assisting Jungwoo’s lion taming show, or with Chenle manning the lights and music during Irene and Seulgi’s silk aerial show. “Do you feel better with the glasses?”

“Yeah. Though I don’t feel better after hearing that my ‘power’ might end up with me dying of blood loss before I even find out what it is.” 

“You have no idea?” Renjun asks.

Jeno shakes his head. “None. But it must have something to do with eyes?”

* * *

The mystery of Jeno’s powers comes to light just before winter. 

They recently upgraded from sleeping on the ground to sleeping on cots, courtesy of a newer member of the circus, a woman by the name of Tiffany who seemed scandalised by their living conditions. Which is curious, considering how she didn’t appear to mind that they were keeping kidnapped children, but she persuaded Taeyong to buy them sleeping bags from town.

The cots aren’t very comfortable, but they’re better than the dirt. Next to Jeno, Donghyuck’s passed out already, snoring peacefully. Jaemin’s gone, and Yangyang and Renjun are sleeping on the cot adjacent to theirs. Jeno is so tired, he falls asleep within minutes.

The next thing he knows, Jeno’s looking down at his sleeping body. Donghyuck’s still there, Renjun and Yangyang are still there, and Jeno is having an out of body experience. Quite literally, in fact. 

“Well,” Jeno murmurs to himself, “This is new.”

Jeno decides to make the most of this new development after looking at Donghyuck’s sleeping face grows old. He steps out of their tent and searches the area for any signs of life, but he doesn’t see anyone. The inner circle, as some people call them, are in the feeding tent, and the rest are probably hanging out in town, or resting. 

There’s nothing to lose, Jeno thinks, and he takes a left, headed for the feeding tent. 

It’s more of a masochist need to see it for himself, maybe. Jeno knows what happens in that tent, has experienced it before, but he still goes, knowing what waits for him there.

Jeno doesn’t make a sound as he walks. It isn’t on purpose, however, because Jeno isn’t doing anything to avoid making noise. He steps on sticks, drags his feet on the dirt, and nothing. 

He reaches the feeding tent in less than a minute, but he wasn’t expecting to find the clowns arguing with Yuta and Jaehyun outside.

“Do you ever take off those costumes?” Yuta asks them mockingly. “Or are the red noses attached to your face?”

One of the clowns sneers, but his companions hold him back. Jeno wonders who would win a fight between them – his money is on Yuta. That man is vicious. 

Jaehyun also steps in, giving Yuta a pointed stare. “What do you want?”

“We want in,” one answers. It’s only then that Jeno realises he doesn’t know any of their names. 

“In on what?” Yuta snorts.

“The feedings.”

It’s Jaehyun’s turn to laugh. Yuta smirks, looking at them as if they suggested the funniest thing he’s heard in a long time.

“That isn’t happening,” Yuta says. “Go back to drinking yourselves stupid.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” a clown stops him by the arm.

Jeno didn’t think anyone would be daring enough to get physical with Yuta. Apparently, Yuta didn’t think the same, because he looks down at the gloved hand around his forearm in shock. Then, he looks up, and he gives the clown a stare that would freeze anyone on the spot.

The clown drops to the ground, clutching his chest, and he’s dead seconds later. Jeno can’t say he’ll miss him very much – the clowns, all of them, give him the creeps.

Jaehyun sighs, staring at the man for a few seconds with something akin to annoyance before he looks up again. 

“Yuta, please don’t kill any more of our workers. We can’t afford to hire more humans.” Then, fixing his eyes on the crowd of clowns, he says, “Very well. We’ll get another one of the boys, and you can feed from him – this time. But if any of you pulls a stunt like this again, I won’t stop Yuta.”

With that, Jaehyun turns around, entering the feeding tent. Jeno sneaks closer, and he sees through the gaps that they haven’t started yet – Jaemin is still awake, although Irene is already tying him down on the table. Seulgi’s lighting the candles she likes.

His attention returns to the clowns when Yuta sighs and says, “I’ll get little Renjun for you. Do not kill him.”

Jeno doesn’t like the excitement in their faces. 

Minutes later, Yuta returns, dragging Renjun with him. Renjun’s half asleep, disorientated, and he doesn’t put up much of a fight as Yuta takes him into a tent close to theirs. Jeno hesitates for a second before he follows them.

Because Renjun knows better than to fight against them, he lets them do whatever they want. The clowns are messier than the inner circle, they don’t have their experience, and Renjun’s bleeding from three different places in minutes.

Jeno hates the sight, and yet he can’t look away. Renjun keeps his eyes tightly closed, and he doesn’t seem to be breathing, either. Jeno can feel his fear from where he stands by the tent’s entrance, and it pains him that he can’t do anything to help him.

Things go wrong as Renjun begins to lose consciousness. His head is lolling to the side, and he’s starting to whine in pain from the feedings. Jeno looks away from his face, and that’s when he sees the hand creeping up Renjun’s thigh.

Jeno tenses. Renjun does, too, and he tries to push the hand off, but he’s too weakened from blood loss to do much. Another hand pushes its way under his shirt, and Renjun is officially terrified. Jeno rushes forward, intent on pushing them off, but he walks right through them and the table, and he remembers he isn’t physically there.

Now isn’t the time to panic, he reminds himself. Jeno runs out of the tent, racing toward theirs. He isn’t sure it will work, but he lies down on top of his body.

His eyes fly open as he wakes up. Jeno doesn’t waste a second longer, grabbing his glasses from where he left them on the ground, shaking Yangyang and Donghyuck awake, barely offering them an explanation before he bolts back outside. They follow him, although Yangyang stumbles and almost eats dirt, but Donghyuck catches him on time.

The situation is worse than Jeno expected, back in the tent with the clowns. Renjun’s pants are around his ankles, and there are at least three clowns on top of him. This time, Jeno makes contact with the clown he tackles, and they go down in a flurry of limbs.

If Yangyang and Donghyuck are surprised by the situation, they keep it under wraps for the time being. Yangyang pushes the rest of them off, helping Renjun pull his pants up after he fails to do so the first two times. Donghyuck keeps them away, a broken glass shard flying into his hands from who knows where that he brandishes like a shield.

Jeno doesn’t mean to pummel that clown into the ground, but the next second, Taeyong’s hauling him off from a bloody stump. Taeyong doesn’t look upset, just annoyed, and the rest of the circle is in the tent, just as bored with the situation.

“Now, what do we have here?” Taeyong asks. “Jaehyun, you said our friends wanted to join in on our fun?”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun drawls, “I just didn’t know they meant this kind of fun.”

Taeyong releases Jeno from his hold, and Jeno rushes to his friends, standing next to Donghyuck as they form a protective circle around Renjun. The boy’s trembling, barely conscious from the feeding, and Jeno doesn’t think he’s ever felt this livid before. 

“Where’s Jaemin?” Donghyuck asks. 

“We put him back in your tent,” Jaehyun says. “He’s fine.”

Taeyong circles the clowns. He doesn’t speak, but he’s never needed to speak to be terrifying. Jeno shakes, just as badly as Donghyuck is shaking at his side, and waits. What for, he doesn’t know.

“I don’t know where you got this idea from,” Taeyong begins, “But say what you want about us, we still have some morals.”

“We were having some harmless fun,” a clown rasps. 

Taeyong makes eye contact with him, and then he glances at Yuta. With a grin bordering on psychotic, one that gives Jeno chills, Yuta does something to the clown, because he falls to his knees, clutching his throat.

Kneeling in front of him, Taeyong hisses, “Harmless fun? We don’t rape people, asshole. Pull a stunt like that again and I will rip your heart out myself.”

Jeno would feel grateful under other circumstances. But given how Taeyong is their number one tormenter around, even worse than Yuta, he can’t. Jeno just wants to go back to their tent, the only place where he ever feels safe. He wants to hide his friends away from every person in this tent, now.

With a final glance at the clowns, Taeyong turns to them and says, “Go back, chop chop.”

They don’t need to hear that twice. Donghyuck and Yangyang flank Renjun as they usher him out, practically carrying him due to his weakened state, and Jeno only hangs around a second longer before he follows them. 

Jaemin’s pacing the inside of the tent, stopping in his tracks when he sees them. “What the hell happened?”

Renjun trudges past him and goes straight for his sleeping cot. He doesn’t acknowledge any of them as he lies down, covering up to his chin. Jaemin looks at the rest of them in confusion and fright.

“What happened?” Jaemin asks again.

Now that the moment is over, every bit of braveness Jeno felt fades away. He collapses next to Renjun on the cot, needing to make sure he’s fine, that he’s safe. His hands tremble terribly, so he fists them over his lap. 

“Jeno woke us up, said something about Renjun being in trouble,” Donghyuck shrugs helplessly. “So we followed him outside.”

“And?” Jaemin prods. 

Yangyang and Donghyuck share a glance, then look at Renjun. At his small nod, Yangyang says, “The clowns were feeding from him, and they were…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but he doesn’t have to. Jaemin turns every shade of red, furious, and he gapes at them in shock. 

“How did you know?” Renjun whispers.

Jeno pushes his glasses up his nose, nervous. “Remember how I told you I didn’t know what my powers were?”

“Yeah?”

“I kind of know, now. I fell asleep, and suddenly I was standing outside of my body. I didn’t know if I could get back in, so I decided to make use of it. I went out to check on Jaem,” he nods toward the boy, who’s staring at him in surprise – they all are, “and I ran into Jaehyun and Yuta talking to the clowns.”

Jeno tells them about the argument Yuta had with them, about the dead man, and how Yuta was the one who decided they would feed from Renjun. While Renjun doesn’t speak during his explanation, he curls in on himself the more Jeno tells them.

“Jesus,” Donghyuck wheezes. “Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, we have to watch our backs for those creeps.”

“Taeyong seemed pissed, though,” Yangyang murmurs. “So I don’t think they’re gonna try that again.”

“Like we’re supposed to feel grateful for that?” Jaemin snorts. “If I had five minutes with that guy, no powers…”

“I think we would all take advantage of that,” Renjun says. “Can we go to sleep now?”

The other four meet eyes. A silent understanding passes through them, and they drag the cots closer, so Renjun won’t be sleeping alone. 

As he tries to sleep again, Jeno feels Donghyuck curl around him, slipping a hand into his. Jeno holds on, because it reminds him that Donghyuck’s here, that they’re all here. Yangyang talks in his sleep, mumbled jumbles of words that no one could understand, and Jaemin snores, but Renjun and Donghyuck are still awake, just as he is.

Dawn arrives, and Jeno’s still awake. He thinks he must have had a handful of minutes of sleep total, and he imagines Renjun had even less. As Jaemin and Yangyang wake up – and Donghyuck, who fell asleep sometime earlier, breathing into the space between Jeno’s shoulder blades – Renjun clears his throat.

“New rule,” Renjun says into the chill of the morning air. “No going around alone.”

“Agreed,” Jeno murmurs. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **brief mention of animal cruelty, (very brief) internalised homophobia, mentions of past character death and murder, emotional manipulation**

Chenle sneaks a pair of new gloves to Renjun on the morning of the first snow. 

“Where did you get these?” Renjun eyes him carefully, sliding the gloves over his cramped fingers.

Chenle shrugs, smiling slightly. “Lost and found. How’s your day been?”

“Cold,” Renjun sighs. 

The sky is a light grey, cloudy. There’s snow on every surface, and Renjun accidentally swallowed a snowflake when it landed on his lips earlier in the morning. Outside of every tent is a fire, and most people have moved their chairs outside so they can sit in front of the warmth. Renjun didn’t see how that was a good idea.

Renjun sinks deeper into his coat and shudders. He’s supposed to be rearranging the outfits for tonight’s aerial silk show, and Seulgi told him to fix a tear on her skirt before the rehearsal. As if being her meal isn’t enough, Renjun is now her seamstress, too.

“Everyone has to earn their next meal around here,” she sang as she placed the piles of clothes on the table. 

Renjun grumbles under his breath as he pricks his finger with the needle, again. He has drops of blood on his palm, and he has to be extra careful to make sure he doesn’t get any of it on the white fabric.

“If you get cold,” Chenle says, “Ask Jisung to keep you company for a while, he’s like a human furnace.”

Renjun nods, before asking, “How are you doing? The cold must be kicking your ass, too.”

“It is,” Chenle laughs, “But I keep myself busy. I helped put up a new tent after the old one collapsed from the wind.”

Renjun doesn’t understand how Chenle can help them just like that, when he bears the same scars on his body. He knows Chenle has been here for a long time, as long as Jisung and Jungwoo as far as he can tell, and he's always willing to lend a helping hand if anyone asks.

It could be part of Taeyong’s hold on everyone – the reason why no one dares to sneak out of the back tents during the shows, why none have tried to run away yet, why Renjun feels his testicles crawl up to his intestines when he even thinks about asking for help from a local. Taeyong’s power is something Renjun can’t even wrap his mind around, and he wouldn’t put it past him to have a hold on Chenle.

It doesn’t explain the enthusiasm Chenle displays at performing some tasks, but Renjun decides he won’t think about it too hard. 

“Do you know where we are now?” Renjun asks. 

“I think we’re somewhere close to the mountains,” Chenle says. “I haven’t heard this town’s name, though.”

“It’s freezing around here, I can barely feel my fingers.”

“Get used to it,” Chenle laughs softly. “It only gets colder and we aren’t built for it.”

“How do you even deal with it?”

Chenle shrugs, moving a stray strip of white fabric away before it falls to the dirt below. “I’m used to sleeping with Jisung, so he keeps me warm. And during the day, I just stay moving as much as I can.”

“I might have to steal Jisung from you for a little bit,” Renjun murmurs. 

“Oh, speaking of – Jisung!” Chenle exclaims.

Jisung enters the tent, confused at Chenle’s sudden call for his attention. Renjun looks up to say hi, and then does a double take as he sees Jisung’s dishevelled state: his sunken cheeks are worse than ever, his skin pasty, and even from here Renjun can see the cracks on his lips.

“Are you alright?” Renjun asks before he can stop himself. 

“It’s been three nights in a row,” Jisung says in lieu of an answer.

Renjun’s eyebrows meet his hairline. He’d noticed that the inner circle had left him and the other four boys alone the past few nights, but he didn’t know that they were feeding exclusively from Jisung. No wonder he appears three seconds away from collapsing. 

“Sit down,” Chenle prompts him, pulling out the vacant chair from under the table. Jisung slumps down, as if his back isn’t strong enough to hold him up anymore. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Not really,” Jisung admits. “I traded my last bag of peanuts for another coat.”

Chenle clicks his tongue, murmuring something about getting him something to eat before he leaves the tent. Renjun watches him disappear, then redirects his attention to Jisung. The kid’s tracing patterns on the snowy ground – these tents don’t do much to protect them from the weather conditions.

“When did this happen?” Renjun asks. At Jisung’s questioning look, he elaborates, “They don’t usually go for you, as far as I’ve seen.”

“They think my powers are evolving,” Jisung says, softly, as if he’s afraid someone will overhear. “And Jaehyun’s convinced it’s gonna help them with whatever.”

“Help them with what?” Renjun frowns.

Jisung stiffens. Renjun bites his tongue, trying to play it cool, but he’s berating himself already. 

“I’m just,” Renjun flounders, “I’m not sure what you mean, that’s all.”

“Nothing,” Jisung shakes his head, not meeting his eyes. “I didn’t mean anything by it, don’t worry about it.”

Renjun laughs awkwardly. “Right.”

Chenle chooses that moment to return, bearing a sandwich he most likely stole from the food carts. Renjun doesn’t bring up the subject again, neither does Jisung, and soon enough it’s night-time. Jisung volunteers to light the candles for him, so he doesn’t mess up his work in the dark.

The tent fills up with the performers, and Donghyuck comes by to help with their makeup. He nods in greeting to Renjun, but there isn’t time to talk now. Renjun works twice as fast as he was before, knowing that Irene will want her outfit to be ready when she comes in. 

Or so he thought. Renjun wasn’t counting on their new priority to be so great. 

As the two aerial silk performers come into the tent, their first stop is Jisung. Seulgi lays a manicured hand on his shoulder, though Renjun can still see the natural blackness of her fingernails under the fresh coat of red polish. Their nails are rotting, just as their hair falls out every day.

“Jisung,” Irene purrs, reddened teeth on display, “You’re coming with us.”

Renjun can’t believe this. Jisung looks like he’ll pass out if he moves from his chair, there is no way he will survive from another feeding session.

“You can’t take him,” Renjun says. 

Irene turns on her heels, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Jeno says Yuta is the scariest person in this circus, but Renjun finds Irene terrifying. It might be her, or it might be her ability to bring Renjun’s worst fears to the forefront of his mind with a glance.

The first time she used her power on him, Renjun wet his pants within minutes. They had been at the circus for less than a week, and Taeyong was yet to sink his claws completely in them, so they were still struggling to escape. One afternoon, Irene cornered him and snuck into his mind.

Renjun fights back the memories and forces himself to meet Irene’s eyes. She isn’t angry – yet. 

“Excuse me?” Irene asks, her voice as low as it is dangerous.

Renjun summons as much bravery as he can from where he doesn’t have any and says, “You’ve been feeding from Jisung for three nights straight.”

“So?” Seulgi asks. Renjun eyes her grip on Jisung’s shoulder warily, noticing the veins climbing up her fingers to her wrists. 

“So,” Renjun rasps, “You’re going to kill him at this rate. You need him alive in order to keep feeding from him. Otherwise, you would have killed us a long time ago.”

It’s a bold statement, one Renjun isn’t entirely sure is true. Renjun has noticed certain things about their habits, especially regarding the stories Jungwoo, Chenle, and Jisung have told him, and he is at least certain that they keep their prey for months at a time, some even longer. There is definitely something there.

Irene treads closer. Renjun stumbles back, running into Donghyuck – he didn’t see the boy move to stand behind him, but he’s glad he did. Donghyuck steadies him with a hand on the small of his back, a hand that’s trembling in fear for Renjun.

“If it bothers you so much,” Irene says, staring up at him with an expressionless face, “Then you might want to take his place?”

Renjun doesn’t want to take his place. But then he glances over Irene’s shoulder to Jisung, still in Seulgi’s clutches, looking like a deer caught in headlights. Donghyuck’s murmuring something to him, warning him against doing something stupid, but Renjun’s made up his mind.

“I’ll go,” Renjun decides.

“No,” Donghyuck hisses, at the same time Jisung says, “Renjun!”

“Very well,” Irene grins. “Jisung, I still need you to replace the strings before the show.”

Seulgi releases Jisung from her hold, and he scampers away from her, hiding behind Donghyuck. Seulgi and Irene stare at Renjun expectantly until he starts moving, following them out.

An arm circles his shoulders. Irene squeezes him to her side, more or less forcing him to lower to her height so she can whisper in his ear.

“That was quite a spectacle there,” she says, tightening her gip. “If you ever dare defy me like that again, I’ll have Sicheng send me back to Vrais, and there I’ll have a nice chat with your parents.”

Renjun freezes.

“I’m sure they would love to hear all about you and your friend Yukhei,” she continues. Seulgi glances back, raises an eyebrow at her partner, but doesn’t interrupt. “I might even bring Taeyong with me.”

They pass another two tents before she finishes her thoughts. “Better yet, I could meet Yukhei myself. It would be a shame if he heard about how ashamed you were of your feelings, though, don’t you think?

“Taeyong would make sure they weren’t too disappointed in your disappearance, though. After all, who would miss a son that turned on his parents and loved another boy? Who would miss a boy too ashamed to call you his?”

Renjun blinks back tears. Irene is using his worst fears, plain and simple, and it’s working.

“It won’t happen again,” he murmurs.

Irene grins, her fangs growing behind her lips. “Of course it won’t. I’m so glad we agree, Renjun dear.”

Everyone’s waiting for them at the feeding tent when they arrive. Renjun notices they changed the ropes they normally use – these new ones are clean. The table is the same as always, though, because Renjun can still see the blood stains that seeped into the wood. 

“What happened to Jisung?” Taeyong asks.

“Renjun volunteered for the night,” Seulgi replies. 

Taeyong stares a second longer, but doesn’t seem to care. “Alright. Set him up.”

Jaehyun isn’t careful as he loads Renjun onto the table. Renjun winces as he hits his head on the edge, but this pain is nothing. As Jaehyun secures the ropes around his body, Renjun closes his eyes and tries to go to his happy place.

It works, kind of. The next time he opens his eyes, Yuta’s setting his vital signs back to normal, and Jaemin’s standing in a corner. 

“Get out of here,” Yuta shoos him away. 

Jaemin is at his side in a second, helping him off the table. Jaemin supports his weight most of the walk to their tent, which Renjun appreciates. He leans his head on Jaemin’s shoulder as the world swims around him, sore all over. 

“Jisung told me what you did,” Jaemin tells him. “You’re kind of an idiot. But it was brave.”

“Shut up,” Renjun groans. “It wasn’t brave.”

“It kind of was, though –”

“Jaemin,” Renjun interrupts him sharply as they reach the tent. “Stop it.”

“Alright,” Jaemin shrugs, helping him down on his cot. “I’ll shut up. I’ll find out about your ulterior motives some other time.”

“I didn’t have any ulterior motives,” Renjun grumbles.

“Sure,” Jaemin says. “You also don’t look guilty as hell.”

* * *

“It’s winter,” Baekhyun states, dropping a bundle of clothes on the ground outside their tent. “Dress up and meet me by the gates in five minutes.”

Yangyang crawls out of his cot, bleary-eyed, and drags the clothes inside. “These are coats. Good coat,” he adds, “they’re padded.”

“Nice,” Donghyuck says, moving closer to Yangyang. “Pass me one of those, yeah?”

They dress quickly. Partly because it’s freezing cold, but mostly because none of them wants to piss off Baekhyun. 

“We have gloves, mufflers,” Jeno lists off, going through the pile. “A few scarves.”

“Do you think they’re trying to butter us up?” Jaemin asks, pulling on a pair of gloves himself.

Renjun considers the idea briefly, but he knows that isn’t true. They haven’t cared before, why would they do now? This is probably another gift from Tiffany, or maybe they’re emptying the lost and found bin.

Whatever it is, Renjun won’t look a gifted horse in the mouth, or however that phrase goes. He wraps a fluffy red and blue scarf around his neck and relishes in the warmth it gives, no matter how little.

As he said, Baekhyun is waiting for them by the gates. This town rented them a fenced area, just off the side of a forest, where wolves howl in the middle of the night. 

Baekhyun’s ability might not be the scariest among the circus, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Renjun saw him blind a cat for fun once, and he knows he wasn’t using the full scope of his powers. Renjun dreads to think that one day he’ll see the extent of his strength.

“Took you long enough,” Baekhyun yawns when he sees them. “I was about to go get you.”

None of them says anything. Baekhyun is talking at them, not with them.

“I have a task for you,” Baekhyun continues. “We’re running out of wood for the fires. We’re also in need of meat, and I saw some nice apple trees out there. Take these,” he says, stepping sideways so they can see the duffel bag behind his legs, “and go into the woods. I expect you can be back before dark.”

With that, he leaves, whistling a tune to himself as he walks toward the food carts. 

“We’re gatherers, now?” Jaemin asks no one in particular. He snorts, “Ridiculous.”

“Worried you’ll break a nail or something?” Donghyuck shakes his head, bending down to retrieve the bag. “Let’s just go, okay?”

Renjun doesn’t trust this. He follows them out into the forest, taking careful steps in case there are any bear traps on the path. Their footprints on the snow trail after them the further they walk into the woods.

Ahead of the group, Jeno and Donghyuck huddle together for warmth, the duffel bag hanging from Donghyuck’s shoulder hitting Jeno’s thigh with every step. Jaemin and Yangyang walk next to Renjun, and no one speaks for a while.

Unsurprisingly, it’s Donghyuck who breaks the silence.

“Why would they send us?”

“So I’m not the only one that thinks it’s suspicious,” Yangyang says. “Good, good.”

“Maybe they trust us,” Jeno suggests, grimacing. 

Renjun shakes his head and frowns. “Why would they trust us?”

“They know we can’t get away,” Jeno says. “And we can’t survive in these woods. The cold would kill us before they could find us, and you know they would find us.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” Yangyang says, shaking his head.

They drop the conversation then, because Jeno spots a fallen tree some paces away they can hack for wood. There’s a brief discussion about the correct way to swing an axe, mostly between Jaemin and Donghyuck, but Jeno settles it by taking the second axe and getting to work.

While Jeno gathers the logs, and Donghyuck and Jaemin duke it out between them, Renjun and Yangyang set out to search for food. 

“Most of these are useless,” Yangyang sighs, throwing a dried mushroom away. “Baekhyun said meat, right? Do you see any animals?”

“They’re probably hibernating,” Renjun says. “It’s too cold for them to be out here. If anything, we could find a lake, cut a hole in the frozen water, and try to fish.”

“Do we have any fishing gear?”

Renjun nods, reaching for the bag. “Yeah, I saw a few rods in here –” he halts.

“What? Renjun, what is it?”

“I know why they sent us here,” Renjun whispers. 

Renjun rushes back to the others, Yangyang hot on his heels. They’re done arguing, thank goodness, but they haven’t made much of a pile of logs.

“They’re testing us,” Renjun announces. Jeno stops his movements, and Donghyuck looks up from the castle of twigs he’s building next to him. “And I think they’re also testing themselves.”

“What are you talking about?” Jaemin frowns.

Renjun licks his lips, pacing in front of them. He can’t feel his nose from the cold, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins keeps him moving.

“Jisung kind of let it slip that he thinks they’re getting weaker,” Renjun says, “and that his powers are getting stronger, so they’ve been feeding from him more than usual. When Jeno started losing his sight, Jisung also said that they usually go for the strongest because there’s something in their blood that works better.”

“And?” Donghyuck asks.

“Have you felt anything while we were out here?” Renjun asks him in return. “Jeno talked about running away – did you feel fear? Did you feel like throwing up, or crying, at the mere thought?”

They don’t answer. Renjun bounces on the balls of his feet, getting more worked up as his thoughts race away from him. 

Jaemin gasps. “Irene. She can’t reach us here.”

“Taeyong probably can’t, either,” Jeno says. “Or any of them.”

“Do you think they’re losing their powers?” Yangyang asks, gnawing on his bottom lip.

Renjun shakes his head, shrugging. “I don’t know what’s happening. I know they’re running a test, though. If we don’t come back, they’ll assume one of two things: we ran away because we figured it out and knew they wouldn’t be able to catch us, or we ran away because we thought we had a chance.”

“And if we do go back?” Donghyuck asks.

“They’ll probably think we couldn’t tell, or they’ll think their powers are fine.” Renjun sighs, looking off to the side. There’s a tree with a hole in the middle – maybe a squirrel took up shelter in there, before the winter came around. “I don’t know. But I think we need to go back.”

“Why?” Jaemin blurts out. “We have a chance to get away from them, why would we go back?”

“I can give you three reason,” Renjun snaps at him, counting off with his fingers, “Jungwoo, Jisung, and Chenle. We can’t just leave them behind.”

“Not to mention, we would never make it far in this weather,” Jeno adds. “If we don’t die frozen to death, they’ll probably catch us before we make it anywhere.”

“Then we go to town,” Yangyang suggests, louder than he usually speaks. “We talk to the cops.”

“And tell them what, Yangyang?” Donghyuck asks.

“Besides,” Renjun says, “They had that kid, Dejun, cause a storm on the night they took us. Someone could have been seriously hurt, which means they don’t care about casualties.”

“They wouldn’t wipe out an entire town, would they?” Yangyang asks.

“We can’t take any chances,” Renjun says.

“Wait,” Jeno says. “Dejun. He ran away when they kidnapped us, right?”

“Yeah?” Donghyuck frowns.

“How did he do it? Sooyoung’s one hell of a tracker, Seulgi could’ve stopped him, or Taeyong. Wendy should’ve sensed what he was doing. So, why didn’t any of them stop him?”

Jaemin’s mouth hangs open in surprise. “They couldn’t do it.”

Renjun glances to the side again. He sees a deer on the path, and he remembers they’re supposed to be looking for food. He meets eyes with Jeno and nods toward the deer, and Jeno nods back, reaching for the shotgun on the duffel bag.

“Do you even know how to shoot a gun?” Donghyuck asks.

Jeno shrugs, taking aim. “I lived in a foster house with a guy that was a bit of a gun freak. All his foster kids learned to shoot within three days of living with him.”

Jeno shoots the deer. He gets it in the neck, and he grins. 

“You’re a jack of all trades, aren’t you?” Donghyuck breathes. Renjun rolls his eyes.

“Let’s finish up here,” Renjun says. “We need to be back before sunset. We’ll figure out what we’re gonna do in the meantime.”

They go back to work. Renjun tracks down a bush with fruits, and he only hesitates for a second before he bags them. If they’re poisonous, then it won’t be him or his friends dying. Yangyang finds an apple tree and he climbs it, resembling a little monkey as he reaches the top and shakes the branches.

“What if,” Renjun says aloud as they begin their track back to the circus, “we can use this. We might not know for sure what’s happening, but we can still use it.”

“What do you mean?” Jeno asks.

“We’re only staying in this town for a few days, right?” Renjun asks. “When we’re on the road, we try to escape. We’ll get help from the guys.”

Renjun knows it isn’t much of a plan, but it’s better than nothing. 

They’re almost at the edge of the forest when Jaemin grasps his wrist, asking, “Do you feel that?”

“Yeah,” Renjun nods. “Fear. We’re back in her range.”

Baekhyun’s waiting for them at the gates. He looks almost bored, checking his nails, but Renjun notices the mild surprise in his eyes when he sees them. He conceals it, though, and Renjun isn’t sure he even saw anything in the first place.

“You’re back,” Baekhyun says, smiling. It isn’t the kind of smile you would like to see. “Did you get everything?”

Jeno drags the deer’s body forward. Baekhyun looks at it for a second before nodding, as if impressed. Renjun and Yangyang drop the little baggies with fruits next to it, and Donghyuck and Jaemin show him the logs of wood.

“Well done,” Baekhyun praises them. “Looks like you earned your dinner tonight.”

With that, he dismisses them. Renjun can’t shake off the feeling of someone watching him until they’re inside their tent, huddling in a circle to leech warmth off each other.

“He didn’t think we would come back,” Yangyang hisses. “Did you see the look on his face?”

“I thought I was hallucinating,” Renjun grins. “He really didn’t think we’d come back.”

“When do we tell them?” Jeno asks.

With a jolt, Renjun realises they’re looking at him, waiting for him to say something. Renjun doesn’t like the idea of having to make the decisions for everyone, nor does he like the idea of them looking up to him to make the right calls. 

“Uh,” Renjun stutters. “Not yet. Not today, at least. We’re tired, and hungry. We should sleep on it.”

Jaemin nods. “I’ll go get us something to eat, you guys stay here.”

When he’s gone, Yangyang takes his spot next to Jeno. The other boy glances at him, then makes a double take. “Yangyang, you’re turning blue.”

“I’m just cold,” Yangyang shakes his head, his teeth chattering.

Donghyuck tsks, grabbing the stray blanket on the ground near him and spreads it out, saying, “Get in here, before you turn into a popsicle.”

Yangyang tries to protest, but he’s clearly doing it out of habit. Donghyuck insists, and soon Yangyang crawls into his lap, letting Donghyuck wrap the blanket around his shoulders. Donghyuck holds him like a baby, which would be sweet if they weren’t in their current situation.

“These coats won’t be enough to last us through the winter,” Jeno murmurs. 

Renjun agrees with him, but he doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to upset them, or alert them before they know anything for sure. Besides, they could always find more layers, more blankets, more clothes. 

Hope is the last thing you lose, Renjun thinks. Well, he hopes Jisung nor Chenle find them frozen one morning, because Renjun isn’t ready to die just yet. 

* * *

“Are you insane?”

Jungwoo tries to squirrel out of the way, but Jeno blocks his path. Renjun smiles lightly – he knew bringing Jeno with him was a good idea. 

“Jungwoo, please,” Renjun pleads, “Hear us out.”

“I’m not listening to anything,” Jungwoo hisses, poking Jeno in the chest. “I have to go get ready, we open in an hour and I need to make sure the lions are fed before –”

“Yeah, you’re a busy man, we get it,” Jeno interrupts him. “But we need to talk to you.”

Jungwoo laughs humourlessly. “There’s nothing to talk about. What you’re suggesting is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard and I refuse to have any part in it.”

“Dejun did it,” Renjun says. Jungwoo’s eyes turn wider than he’s ever seen them. “Why can’t we?”

Jungwoo stares at him. Renjun knows he’s going to chew him out before Jungwoo opens his mouth. “Dejun escaped. But what about the others? Huh? Kunhang’s dead. Doyeon’s dead. Mina’s dead. Yoojung's dead. What makes you think you won’t end up just like them?”

Renjun swallows. 

“If Dejun got away,” Jeno says, approaching Jungwoo with measured steps, “It means our theories are at least half right.”

“What theories?” Jungwoo raises an eyebrow.

Renjun, seeing an opening, takes it. “We think they’re growing weaker. Jaehyun thinks Jisung’s powers are increasing, so they’ve been feeding from him. They did the same to that Doyeon girl, right? She went blind because of it.”

“So?” Jungwoo shrugs.

“Dejun escaped with every single member of the circus, including the inner circle, in the near vicinity,” Renjun says. “How did he do it?”

“They have to be losing steam,” Jeno finishes his thought.

Jungwoo shakes his head, but Renjun knows he’s waning. 

“When they sent us out to the forest,” Renjun continues, “We couldn’t have been more than a mile away from here, but we couldn’t sense them at all. We know Irene instilled the fear of running away in us, and we know Taeyong did something to keep it in our minds all the time, but when we were out there… there was none of it. We were out of their range.”

“Then why didn’t you stay away?” Jungwoo asks.

“We couldn’t,” Jeno admits. “We didn’t want to leave you or the kids behind. Plus, we weren’t sure we were gonna survive half a day out there.”

Jungwoo sighs. Renjun holds his breath, not daring to wish or hope for anything in fear that it won’t come true, but it has to. If Jungwoo isn’t on board, then there is no way they will convince Chenle or Jisung, either. Renjun has no qualms about that: if Jungwoo doesn’t say yes, it will come down to the five of them.

And Renjun knows, for a fact, that they need Jungwoo. 

“Dejun wasn’t the first person around here to attempt an escape,” Jungwoo tells them, “But he was the first one to succeed.”

Jeno and Renjun glance at each other. Jungwoo sighs once more, peeking outside his tent to confirm there isn’t anyone around before he beckons them to sit on the little makeshift table he built. 

“Dejun was taken with his girlfriend, Mina, and their friends Doyeon, Yoojung, and Kunhang. It wasn’t too long ago, they were about your age. You know that Seulgi blocks everyone’s abilities, as long as we’re in here, no?” He waits for them to nod. “One day, she slipped up. No one knows why, but she did. Kunhang was a mind reader.”

Renjun can see where this is going, and he doesn’t like it. Jeno shifts closer, the way he does to make sure they’re close. Renjun has noticed it a few times before, the way Jeno will seek them out for physical reassurance. 

“He read their minds,” Jungwoo whispers. “He learnt things about them that no one else knows. He told his friends, and they prepared a plan. Except Taeyong found out, and they killed him – and I don’t mean they drained him, like they did with the girls.”

“What do you mean, then?” Jeno's voice is small, almost impossible to catch.

“They burned him alive,” Jungwoo states. “That’s their punishment for those that break their ‘ _trust_ ’, as they call it. Over the next week, they drained the girls, because they were powerful and they needed their blood.”

“Why did they keep Dejun alive, then?” Renjun asks him softly.

Jungwoo presses his lips together, looking off to the side. “They needed Dejun to cause a diversion in Vrais. They don’t always take kids, because there aren’t people with powers everywhere. But there are always in Vrais.”

Jeno frowns, looking at Renjun, but Renjun shakes his head. Now isn’t the time to open that particular can of worms.

“If they had just fed from those three girls, how come they couldn’t stop Dejun from creating that storm?” Jeno asks instead.

“I don’t know,” Jungwoo replies honestly. 

Renjun breathes through his mouth, his nose clogged from the cold. There has to be something else going on, a reason why they’re so desperate to find kids to act as their meals.

“What do you know?” he asks Jungwoo. “About them, about what they are?”

“I know they’re old,” Jungwoo shakes his head. “I know that the core five – Taeyong, Seulgi, Irene, Yuta, and Jaehyun – are the oldest. I’ve seen what they look like when they go without feeding for too long, and it isn’t pretty.”

Renjun nods. To his side, Jeno stiffens, and he glances sharply at Jungwoo. 

“You said they took five, before us.” 

“Yeah?” 

“And there are five of them.”

Renjun snaps his fingers quickly, nodding his head. “Have you seen them do that before? Take five in a row?”

“There’s you,” Jungwoo raises an eyebrow. “And us. Chenle, Jisung, and I were taken at the same time. There were other two with us, but they died. Sungchan bled out, and Shotaro made the mistake of punching Yuta once. You know how Yuta can be.”

Yeah, they know. Renjun shudders at the idea of ever threatening Yuta, much less punching him. He isn’t Irene, but he has a short fuse and no conscience.

“You’ve never told us about the time they took you,” Jeno murmurs. “You know about us, though.”

Jungwoo snorts. “What, you think this is a show and tell kinda bullshit?”

“I think we would both like to know,” Renjun adds.

A couple of minutes pass. Jungwoo doesn’t look at either of them while he thinks, and Renjun does his best to wait patiently. Jeno shivers from the cold and Renjun presses closer, though there isn’t much space between them to begin with.

Finally, Jungwoo says, “Fine. We were from a small mining town, the kind of town where nothing interesting ever happens.”

“Like Vrais?” Jeno laughs softly.

“Yeah, I guess. You know, they usually find the kids through the circus, seeing them during shows or whatever. Not me, though. Taemin saw me at the grocery store,” he snorts, “I was there with my parents, buying food for a camping trip. I never even stepped foot in the circus, because I was scared of clowns.

“They sent Sooyoung and Jongin after me,” he continues. “There weren’t many camping spots around there, but if you drove enough miles up north, you landed at a little lake, Blackwater River. We rented a cabin, and we were going to make a weekend out of it.”

“What happened?” Renjun whispers.

“Sooyoung tracked us down and they broke in while we were sleeping, on that first night.” Jungwoo stops to take a deep breath. Renjun feels odd, putting him through this, but it’s a necessary evil. They need Jungwoo to remember what he had before, and what the circus took from him. “I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when they came in.

“They killed my parents when they tried to stop them. I’m not sure how they took the others. I was eleven then, and I think Chenle and Jisung were both eight years old.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno tells him. 

“Yeah, well. It was more than ten years ago,” Jungwoo shrugs. “Is that all you need to know?”

“Are you with us, or not?” Renjun asks.

“There is no guarantee that whatever you’re thinking of will work,” Jungwoo says.

Renjun has never been a liar. He’s never been the type of person to manipulate others, or to use their emotions against them for his own personal gain, and yet he’s done it several times in the last three weeks.

“I know it’s going to work,” Renjun says. “I’ve been having visions. I can see the future, just short glimpses. I’ve seen us, free, at a beach somewhere.”

It’s the only nice vision Renjun’s had since it started. He sees them all together, playing in the water. Donghyuck coaxing Jeno toward the shore, Jaemin lying on the sand with more sunscreen on his body than Renjun has seen on anyone else. Him and Yangyang napping under a beach tent. 

There are a few other people, including Yukhei, and a boy he doesn’t recognise. 

“You have?” Jungwoo asks. The hope in his eyes is impossible to miss.

Renjun nods. “I have. And I know it’s in the near future, because we don’t look much different than we do now. That’s how I know it’s going to work.”

Jungwoo hesitates, but Renjun knows he’s sold. When Jungwoo nods, Renjun feels relief, but only a small part of him. 

“Fine,” Jungwoo agrees. “I’ll help. We can tell Chenle and Jisung another day, right now I need to go check on the lions.”

“Thank you,” Jeno sighs. 

Jungwoo leaves first. Jeno and Renjun return to their shared tent, running into Yangyang on their way there. He’s bundled up in two coats, one of which is definitely too large for him, because it drags on the snow. 

“So?” Yangyang bounces. “What did he say?”

“He said yes,” Renjun informs him. “We’ll talk about it some other time, though. They’re coming for you in a few minutes.”

The light in Yangyang’s eyes disappears. Jeno wraps an arm around his shoulder, guiding him the last few metres to their tent. Yangyang doesn’t keep talking, although Jeno speaks to him in hushed whispers. Renjun collapses on his cot, his legs shaking. 

Renjun has never been a liar, until now.

He doesn’t know where Jaemin is, and Donghyuck is probably still at the dressing tent. Right on cue, Jaehyun comes looking for Yangyang, and then it’s only Renjun and Jeno.

“So, uh,” Jeno says awkwardly, “Did you really see us? Free?”

“I did, yeah,” Renjun tells him. “There was me, you, Donghyuck, Jaemin, Yangyang. You and Hyuck looked pretty chummy in it, by the way,” he adds, just to see Jeno blush to the tips of his ears. 

“Shut up,” Jeno grumbles. “What else can you tell me?”

“Chenle and Jisung are there. Some guy I don’t know is teaching them how to swim.”

“Dejun, maybe?”

Renjun shakes his head. “I don’t think so. Something tells me Dejun won’t be showing his face ever again, much less in Vrais.”

“We’re in Vrais?” Jeno asks, surprised.

Renjun pauses. “Uh, yeah. I don’t know how I know that.”

“Anything else?”

Jeno’s prodding him. Renjun can see right through him, and he knows Jeno won’t let him drop the subject, so he caves to his questioning.

“Hyuck was trying to get you to even touch the water,” he tells him. “I’m guessing you’re not a fan?”

“Not really,” is all Jeno says. 

“I think Jaemin was trying to get a tan but he’s using too much sunscreen. I’m with Yangyang, under one of those big beach tents. My friend Yukhei is there, and so is another guy I don’t know.”

Jeno searches his face. Renjun maintains eye contact for as long as he can, but he can’t handle looking at Jeno, who’s always honest, knowing that he’s the worst person on the planet.

“Renjun,” Jeno says slowly, softly. “Is Jungwoo anywhere on that vision of yours? And don’t lie to me.”

Renjun gulps. He’s never been much of a liar.

“No,” he confesses. “Jungwoo isn’t in my vision.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: **blood, body horror**

There are patches of flowers everywhere on this field. Jaemin sneezes once, twice, thrice, his nose itching. He hates spring.

“You have allergies?” Jisung asks. Jaemin nods, wipes his lower face with his shirt, and counts the seconds to go back to their tent, where there aren’t any flowers or pollen. “That must suck. Does your head hurt?”

“No,” Jaemin sniffles, “I just can’t stop sneezing.”

“Less talking, more weaving,” Chanyeol calls out.

Jaemin bites his tongue and goes back to work. Chanyeol circles the two boys for a few minutes, watching them weave the flower crowns they’re going to sell tonight before he moves on. Jaemin thinks, briefly, about the irony: a circus that works as a front for a group of mass murderers and child abductors, selling flower crowns and cotton candy to children. 

Jisung has a pile of the aforementioned crowns next to him. Jaemin barely has a handful of them ready, and he scowls when he sees Jisung finish another one.

“How are you getting these done so quickly?” he asks him. “I can’t keep the stems from bending and breaking all the time.”

Jisung shrugs. His tongue pokes out as he concentrates on tying two flower stems together. “My grandmother taught me how to sew when I was little. I used to help her sew her clothes because she refused to buy anything new.”

_That’s cute_ , Jaemin thinks. His own grandmother bought new shoes just for the heck of it. 

Chanyeol leaves them alone, saying something about getting the plastic bags where they will store the crowns. Jaemin waits another second or two, just until he’s sure the man is out of hearing range.

“Have you thought about what we told you?” Jaemin asks.

Jisung nods quickly without glancing up. Jaemin hums, finishes a flower crown. 

“And?”

“I thought you said you wanted to do it back in December,” Jisung murmurs, “When we left town. Why didn’t you do it then?”

“It was too dangerous,” Jaemin says. “We wouldn’t have made it two days in the middle of winter.”

“And spring is better?”

“We were actually thinking of summer.”

Jisung looks at him in surprise. “So long? Why wait until then?”

Jaemin sighs. Jisung sounds exactly like Yangyang and Donghyuck, and that isn’t an argument Jaemin’s looking forward to having again.

“We still don’t know certain things for sure,” Jaemin says, “And we think it’s best if we figure those out before we try anything.”

“Oh. What kind of thing?”

Jaemin glances over his shoulder. He sees Chanyeol walking towards them with a box in his hands, as upbeat as always. Jaemin drops the subject.

“Are we done here?” Chanyeol asks. Jaemin jolts in surprise as he drops the box on the grass next to him. 

“Yeah,” Jaemin mumbles. “We just need to pack them.”

“Then get to it, then.” Chanyeol sets one finger of his on fire, playing with the flame. “We open doors soon.”

“Don’t you have to go meet up with Yuta?” Jisung asks him. Jaemin thinks this is the first time he’s heard or seen Jisung speak to Chanyeol. “He said something about you helping him with his act.”

Chanyeol cocks his head to the side. “Huh, yeah. I forgot about that. Get these done and bring them to Sooyoung.”

Jaemin watches him leave again, and then turns his attention on Jisung. “You’re on speaking terms with them?”

“No,” Jisung says pointedly. “But Yuta did say they were doing an act together. Besides, I needed to talk to you.”

Jaemin nods, packaging three flower crowns before he prompts him, “You wanted to talk, then talk. What is it?”

“If you really want to get out of here,” Jisung whispers, “Then you need to make sure your powers are top notch. Because weak or not, those guys out there won’t go down without a fight. I know you know what happened the last time someone tried to run away.”

Yes, Jaemin knows. Renjun and Jeno told them everything they heard from Jungwoo that same night, and he isn’t looking forward to repeating history. 

Jaemin also happens to know Renjun is keeping secrets from them. He has a feeling Jeno knows at least a few of those. Jaemin just doesn’t know how far those secrets go, or what they mean for them.

“Don’t worry about our powers.” Jaemin packages five more flower crowns, making sure he doesn’t ruin any of his hard work in the meantime. “We’re working on those.”

“You are?” Jisung asks.

Between them, they have five stacks of flower crowns ready to sell to the public. They’re colourful, pretty, and well done. A small part of him hopes they sell well, and that the kids like them.

“Yangyang can heal us too, now, other than just his own wounds,” Jaemin tells him. “I’ve been visiting their dreams.”

Jisung startles. Jaemin smiles to himself, thinking back to the first time he did it. He definitely didn’t know about Donghyuck’s dreams, though.

“I don’t know how useful that can be for us,” Jaemin continues grimly, “But it’s something. And Renjun can see bits and pieces of the future, and he seems very confident in our chances.”

“Has he told you why?” 

“No. I think he’s afraid he will jinx it.”

Jisung sighs. The crowns are ready to go, so they load them onto the box and start the trek toward Sooyoung’s stand. The sun is starting to set, and Jaemin notices the cars in the parking lot outside the circus’ property. Show’s about to start, Jaemin thinks.

“Here are your flower crowns,” Jisung says, barely above a whisper, as he sets the box on the stand. 

Sooyoung, or Joy, as she advertises on her stand, flashes a smile. Fake, white teeth glint at them. Jaemin isn’t sure how or where they find so many ways to hide their true appearances. 

“Go back to your tent,” Sooyoung says to them, taking the packaged flower crowns out of the box and rearranging them on her stand. “Make sure no one sees you. Tell Chenle I need his help manning the stand tonight.”

Halfway back to the staff quarters, they run into Renjun and Chenle. Renjun’s covered in body paint, and to the far back Jaemin sees the clowns running off to their spots. 

“They made you help them?” Jaemin exclaims.

Renjun shrugs, not meeting his eyes. Jaemin shakes his head and bites his tongue – now isn’t the time to talk about this. 

“Chenle, Sooyoung said to go help her with her stand tonight,” Jisung informs him. 

Chenle nods, offering a quick goodbye to them before he scurries away. Renjun watches him go with a strange expression on his face.

“Hey, Jisung,” Renjun says before Jisung can leave as well. “I have a question for you, if you don’t mind.”

“What is it?”

“How come Chenle always helps out?” 

Jisung frowns, staring at Renjun. Renjun holds eye contact, though Jaemin notices his twitching fingers. 

“What do you mean?” Jisung asks.

Renjun tries to play it off, acting nonchalant. Jaemin doesn’t buy the act, and neither does Jisung.

“I was just wondering, since everyone’s always asking for his assistance, and he never says no, or anything.”

“He does it for the same reasons you and I do it,” Jisung tells him slowly. “To stay alive. No one around here says no to them. I know you know what happens when you do.”

Renjun gulps. Jisung isn’t the type of person to scare or intimidate others, but right now, he looks livid enough to frighten Jaemin. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Renjun begins to say, but Jisung interrupts him.

“Yeah, you did. Chenle and I are on board with your plan, that isn’t going to change.” Jisung pauses, ensuring he has Renjun’s undivided attention before he continues. “But I would appreciate it if you could trust us as much as we trust you.”

Renjun looks off to the side, nodding. 

Jaemin can’t take the awkward atmosphere much longer. “Jisung, why don’t you come with us? We’re gonna watch Hyuck try to move things around with his mind, it should be fun.”

“No, thank you,” Jisung murmurs. “I’d rather go back to our tent, get some rest or something.”

With that, Jisung walks away, his head hanging low. Renjun makes a whimpered sound and looks at Jaemin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt him,” Renjun says.

Jaemin pats his shoulder, starting to guide him toward their tent. “Come on, Donghyuck promised he’d throw us around if we brought him dinner.”

“But we don’t have dinner for him,” Renjun protests.

“Yeah, and he isn’t throwing us around, either.”

Donghyuck is moving a box of assorted tools in their tent, while Yangyang tends to a nasty cut on Jeno’s torso.

“What happened to you?” Jaemin frowns.

“I tripped,” Jeno lies. 

Jaemin and Donghyuck meet eyes. Donghyuck shakes his head subtly, and Jaemin knows it’s better if he drops the subject.

“How was your day?” Jeno asks them. 

Renjun trudges past him, sitting down on his cot with a pout. “Jisung hates me.”

“I don’t think Jisung could hate anyone,” Donghyuck tells him.

Jeno glances at Renjun. “Why would you think Jisung hates you?”

“I asked something that upset him,” Renjun says.

Jaemin rolls his eyes, dropping next to him on the ground. Jeno only looks more confused than he did before, and Jaemin can’t blame him. Donghyuck stops moving the box, frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Jaemin asks him.

“There’s something wrong.”

Yangyang crawls to his side instead, hands held out as if to touch him, but not quite. Donghyuck doesn’t show any outward signs of pain, or injury, and he isn’t bleeding anywhere. Jaemin looks at Renjun, thinking that perhaps he means he has a bad feeling about something, but Renjun hasn’t said anything about having a vision.

“What’s wrong?” Jaemin repeats.

Donghyuck holds a hand to his chest, clutching his shirt. His grip tightens, and Donghyuck gasps in pain. Jeno puts a hand on his shoulder, his concern clear on his face, but Donghyuck barely acknowledges him.

Almost two minutes pass, during which Jaemin watches Donghyuck like a hawk for signs of – of anything. He hopes Donghyuck isn’t having a heart attack, although if he were, he would have said something already.

Finally, Jaemin can’t stand the silence any longer. He crawls toward Donghyuck and forces him to make eye contact, searching his face for answers. “What is it? Hyuck, what hurts?”

Donghyuck opens his mouth as if to answer, but he whines in pain instead. Jaemin shares a helpless look with Yangyang, just as the boy grabs Donghyuck’s forearm.

“I can’t find anything wrong with him,” he informs the tent at large. “Donghyuck, where does it hurt? Your chest?”

Donghyuck nods in rapid successions. Yangyang grabs the bottom of Donghyuck’s shirt and lifts it up with Jeno’s help. The shirt hasn’t touched the ground when Jaemin sees the problem, and he gasps in horror.

There is something protruding out of Donghyuck’s chest. It has yet to breach the skin, although Jaemin suspects it won’t take much longer. Whatever it is, it’s large, maybe as large as the width of Jaemin’s hand, and it’s moving inside Donghyuck.

“What the hell is that?” Renjun exclaims.

Yangyang, panicking, touches it. Immediately, Donghyuck screams in pain, and the first signs of blood appear as the thing starts to break through his skin. Jeno barks at Yangyang to back off, and the boy does, tears brimming in his eyes.

Jaemin is at a loss for what to do. He doesn’t even know what’s going – he just knows there’s a thing growing out of Donghyuck, and Donghyuck is writhing in pain as it does.

“Get it out,” Donghyuck whimpers. “Jesus, what the fuck?”

“Don’t move,” Jeno orders. “Yangyang, don’t let him move, and try to lessen his pain. Jaemin, can you help me?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jaemin says, nodding. 

With trembling hands, Jaemin reaches out. Jeno directs him to put his hands on Donghyuck’s chest, as if framing the object, and to press down when Jeno starts to pull. Renjun, peering over Jeno’s shoulder, bites his nails to muffle a sound of fear.

“I hate blood,” Renjun murmurs.

“Then look away, because you’re not going to like this one bit,” Jeno says.

Donghyuck shouts again, the sound petering off as he loses consciousness. A bright light emits from the places where Yangyang is touching him, his healing effects working just enough to keep him awake, but Donghyuck is still faltering. 

With a final yank, Jeno removes the thing from Donghyuck’s chest. Donghyuck slumps, Yangyang barely catching his head before he hits it against the ground. Jaemin sits on his haunches, gasping for breath. 

“What is it?” Yangyang asks.

“You can look now, Renjun,” Jeno calls to him. 

Renjun uncovers his eyes, gasping when he sees what’s on Jeno’s hands.

“Is that a monkey wrench?” Jaemin asks incredulously.

Jeno nods, turning it over in his hands. The tool is covered in blood, although that much is to be expected. “It is, but it’s smaller than the ones I’ve seen before.”

“How the hell did it get inside Hyuck?” Renjun whispers.

Jaemin redirects his attention to Donghyuck. He isn’t fully aware of his surroundings yet, but he’s definitely more awake than before. Yangyang slaps his cheek softly, until Donghyuck blinks up to him, groaning.

“What?”

“How did a wrench get inside you?” Yangyang asks.

“How the fuck do you expect me to know?” 

Renjun inches closer, moving Donghyuck’s head to his lap. “Didn’t you need a monkey wrench this morning?”

Donghyuck’s eyes snap open. He nods, though weakly. Yangyang is working his magic on him, the skin on his chest stitching itself together.

“To fix the engine on Taeyong’s truck.”

“And it just happened to grow out of you?” Jeno asks. He scoffs, dropping the bloodied wrench on the ground. “I think we just unlocked another useful ability.”

“I’ll say,” Jaemin mutters.

* * *

“You want to know what I just realised?” Renjun asks.

It’s night time. It’s late, later than they usually stay awake, and there is a nice spring breeze outside their tent. They are three days away from leaving town, which means they have been receiving more customers and visitors than the previous days. Today was a long day, because preparations for the spring festival collided with the circus, and they had to improvise to adapt.

Jungwoo promised he would visit them at midnight, as soon as he could sneak away from the animals’ tents where he was keeping an eye on the cubs. Chenle fell asleep on Jeno’s shoulder maybe an hour ago, and Jaemin is sure he’s pressing down on Jeno’s injured side, but Jeno doesn’t make a peep. Jisung left minutes ago to look for his blanket, claiming he was feeling chilly.

Donghyuck hums, glancing at Renjun. “What?”

“It’s spring, right?” Renjun raises his eyebrows. “This means that classes probably started already.”

“And you realised you’re not agonising over math for the first time in your life?” Donghyuck asks.

“No,” Renjun shakes his head. “If things had gone differently, I would be in university right now, starting on my music degree.”

“You were going for music?” Jaemin asks. 

“Yeah. I had a scholarship for a music school in the city, full ride.”

“Cool,” Donghyuck nods. “I wanted to go to med school.”

Jeno grins, speaking softly so he doesn’t wake Chenle, “I can’t imagine you as a doctor, Hyuck.”

Donghyuck makes an affronted sound, going off on a spiel about how he would have been an excellent doctor. Renjun laughs at him, which only causes Donghyuck to work himself up further.

“What kind of doctor did you want to be?” Jaemin asks, in an attempt to placate him. 

Donghyuck, a little miffed, says, “I don’t know. My plan was to get through the first seven years and figure out the specialisation on the way.”

“What about you guys?” Renjun asks the remaining three.

Jeno shrugs with his free shoulder. “I didn’t have any plans for college. I assumed I would just work as a mechanic or something. It’s not like my grades were attracting many offers in the first place.”

“I don’t remember ever seeing you at school,” Renjun hums.

“I didn’t go to yours. I was enrolled in public school, because that’s where the government sends foster kids.”

“I wanted to study microbiology,” Yangyang pipes up. Jaemin startles – he thought Yangyang was asleep. “I kinda got into it a few summers ago.”

“Jaemin?” Donghyuck tilts his head. “What did you want to do?”

Jaemin laughs, humourlessly. “What I wanted wasn’t exactly what I was going to do. My father always wanted me to go into accounting, or business, or law, something I could use for the family business.”

“What’s the family business?” Renjun asks.

“Mining,” Jaemin shrugs, “mostly. My mom opened a boutique downtown, and she has a few other stores in the city. My dad also likes to invest in start-up businesses, so he was always buying stocks and giving loans.”

Yangyang frowns, sitting up. “Wait, your dad is the guy that owns the Vrais mines? Down by the mountains?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, my God,” Yangyang laughs, flopping back down. “Your dad fired my dad.”

Jaemin sputters. Yangyang doesn’t seem mad or upset about it, laughing to himself over the memory, but Jaemin knows that his father’s purchase of the mines came with an onslaught of unemployment, as well as many angry people.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Yangyang.

“What for?” Yangyang asks him genuinely. “We were kids when that happened. It wasn’t your fault.”

That much is true. Jaemin still feels guilty, though. Not many people were happy with all the changes his father made to the mining industry, starting with the cuts in staff, the new policies, or their new focus: they went from mining for minerals to mining for gold, which was significantly deeper into the caves.

As the conversation fades, Chenle wakes up, rubbing his eyes with a fist. “Are the others not here yet?”

Jisung re-enters the tent, blanket draped over his shoulder. He makes a little space for himself on Jeno’s other side, snuggling under the cover.

“Jungwoo’s on his way,” he tells them. “He seemed pretty down, I think one of the lion cubs died.”

Jaemin frowns. He can’t help but feel bad about the lion – those cubs are cute, and Jaemin likes petting them when Jungwoo is around to keep them from biting his hand off. 

“That’s too bad,” Yangyang mumbles sleepily, pillowing his head over his arms. “I like the cubs.”

Five minutes later, Jungwoo makes his presence known. He looks like crap, though Jaemin doesn’t mention it.

“Alright,” he sighs. “We’re here to talk about your plan?”

“Not exactly,” Renjun shakes his head. “We still don’t have a plan, per se. We need you guys to tell us all that you can about the circus.”

Jungwoo raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’ve been here for almost a year. You’re telling me you don’t know everything there is to know?”

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Jeno confirms. 

“What do you want to hear?” Jisung asks.

Renjun clears his throat. “According to you, who should we look out for?”

“All of them,” Jungwoo doesn’t miss a beat.

“Sicheng,” Chenle says softly. “One clap of his hands and he can send you straight into the Pacific Ocean. You definitely need to take him out first.”

“Seulgi could block all our powers and leave us useless,” Jisung adds. “I think she could even take them away, forever.”

A shiver travels down Jaemin’s spine. Seulgi’s abilities confuse him, but he knows they’re similar to Chenle’s psychic shield. 

“If you’re gonna try to do anything, you have to make sure Chanyeol can’t stop us,” Jungwoo sighs. “He isn’t just powerful, he’s also crazy. I don’t think he’s above torching the entire town to stop us.”

In spite of everything, Jaemin smiles. Jungwoo might not have noticed, but he just said ‘us’. 

“Taeyong, obviously,” Donghyuck says. “Chenle, can’t you do something about it?”

“I could try to protect one or two of you at a time, but not everyone.” Chenle chews on his bottom lip, thinking. “If I could do something like Seulgi, I could stop them from using their powers on us, but I can only shield our minds. We would still be vulnerable to anything physical.”

“If you can keep us from Irene’s paralyzing visions, I think we can handle the rest,” Jeno snorts. 

If they were to ask, Jaemin would say Irene scares him the most. She’s shown him his deepest fears in the past, and each time has been different in content, but the same in intensity. The last time she did it – Jaemin had dropped a bucket of paint while redecorating their signs, and the paint had splattered her shoes – he saw his friends, his new friends, dead in the most awful of ways. 

“What else?” Jaemin asks, trying to drive the images from his mind.

“What does Jaehyun do?” Renjun frowns. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him use his powers.”

That makes everyone in the room stop and think. Jaemin realises Renjun is right: Jaehyun’s abilities are a mystery to him. 

Everyone except for Jungwoo. Jaemin sees him look away from them, and if Jaemin isn’t mistaken, that’s fear written all over his face. 

“Jungwoo?” Jaemin says. “Do you know what Jaehyun can do?”

“I don’t,” Jungwoo denies. “I don’t recall ever seeing him do anything.”

“I don’t think it’s anything flashy,” Jeno tells them. “It’s obviously not something he can use to intimidate.”

“What about that guy that’s always trailing after Taeyong?” Renjun asks. “Ten?”

Chenle smiles. “He’s harmless – you know what I mean. His power is something related to technology, he can’t use it on us.”

“Anyone else?” Yangyang asks.

“Baekhyun can be dangerous, especially if paired with Chanyeol.” At their questioning glances, Jungwoo elaborates. "His power is light, right? He can’t just create spheres of light to blind us, though. I’ve seen him start fires, and I’ve seen him kindle the ones Chanyeol starts.”

“Yuta could give us a heart attack and be done with us,” Jisung adds.

“And Wendy will know we’re up to something before we even start,” Chenle says. 

Jungwoo sighs, then looks at each of them individually. “What about us? What can we do that’s going to help us?”

“Well,” Donghyuck says, clapping his hands, “There’s been a development with me. I made these,” he shows them a handful of articles: bobby pins, paper clips, and a pair of earrings.

“I’m sorry, what?” Chenle laughs.

“I made these,” Donghyuck repeats. “I can make things out of my own body. It’s painful, but Yangyang heals me once they’re out of my skin.”

“I don’t want to see it,” Jisung says immediately. “Good for you, though.”

“How does this help us, though?” Jungwoo asks.

Donghyuck shrugs, dropping the items on the ground. “I can make keys to a car, for instance. Or something to defend ourselves with.”

“As soon as we decide on a day, I can scout the area, to choose a route,” Jeno adds. “They can’t see me when I travel outside of my body.”

Renjun pulls his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. “We still don’t know for sure what we’re going to do. We have to decide if we’re going to do it while we’re still in town, or in the next one.”

“I think it’s better if we wait until we’re sure of what we can do,” Donghyuck suggests. “Practice, as best as we can.”

“You want us to bide our time?” Jisung summarises. 

Donghyuck nods, and Jaemin agrees with him. Even if they can do certain things, there is no way they’re going to make it out of here without practicing. Especially considering who they would be going up against.

“Okay, well,” Chenle yawns, nestling his head on Jeno’s shoulder again, “Nice talk, but it’s late.”

“You guys hear that?”

Jaemin glances at Yangyang. He’s sitting up, as if straining his ears to hear well. Jaemin does the same, concentrating, and he thinks he hears a faint melody. 

“Is that music?” Jaemin asks. 

Jungwoo hums. “Yeah. I don’t know what it’s for, but they always play music on this day.”

“Every year?” Renjun asks.

“Every year.”

“Must be someone’s birthday,” Jeno mumbles.

Jaemin cocks his head. The music is far away, probably on the other side of the field. It’s ballroom music, the kind they play at the fancy weddings or snobby parties that Jaemin always hated to attend.

Now, though… Jaemin didn’t think it was possible, but he’s feeling nostalgic for those. He looks at Yangyang again, notices how he’s swaying side to side gently in tune to the music, and he offers his hand.

“Wanna dance?”

Yangyang startles. Jaemin doesn’t withdraw his hand, waiting for him to answer.

“Now?” Yangyang stammers. “We can barely hear the music.”

“And?”

A second later, Yangyang takes his hand. Jaemin grins and stands up, taking Yangyang with him. 

“Do you even know how to dance to this?”

“I do,” Jaemin nods. “My parents made sure I wouldn’t embarrass them at parties in front of their friends and colleagues. Just follow my lead, yeah?”

Yangyang smiles. Jaemin guides Yangyang’s other hand to his shoulder, hesitating if he should place his hand on Yangyang’s waist or shoulder. He settles for his waist, because it would allow him to steer Yangyang this way and that much easier. 

Behind them, Donghyuck pesters Renjun until he gives in and dances with him. Jeno grins at them from his spot, a fond smile that turns his eyes into crescents, Chenle snoring on his shoulder. Jisung’s nodding off, but he’s humming along to the music.

There isn’t much of a difference in their heights. Jaemin can look Yangyang in the eye, no problem, yet he finds he can’t hold eye contact for long, not unless he wants to stay in pace. Jaemin loses track of time, dancing with Yangyang. Donghyuck’s giggling with Renjun, and the kids are asleep on Jeno’s shoulders. Jungwoo sways side to side, much how Yangyang did earlier.

If Jaemin closes his eyes, it’s almost as if they’re alone in the tent, or in the whole world. 

He senses Yangyang’s actions before he moves. Well, he actually senses his hesitance, and if they were in a normal situation – if they were at Jaemin’s boarding school, at one of those silly balls or parties, or anything else – Jaemin would tease him about it. 

This time, he waits for Yangyang to make up his mind. After another minute or two of clumsily dancing to the melody, Yangyang lies his head on Jaemin’s shoulder, his hair tickling Jaemin’s chin. 

Jaemin grins, and closes his eyes. Like this, it really feels as if they’re alone in the world. 

* * *

"Pack these up, then load them on the truck."

Yuta hasn't stopped barking orders all day. Jaemin does as he's told, like a good little boy, but that doesn't mean he doesn't notice the strange atmosphere in the air.

It isn't only Yuta acting strange. Taeyong hasn't shown his face all day, although Jaemin caught a glimpse of his usual outfit through the gaps of a tent, and Jaehyun has stepped up to the plate in his absence. Irene and Seulgi are hiding as well, and they've done a better job at it than Taeyong, because Jaemin hasn't seen them at all.

Jaemin isn't the only one that's noticed it, either. He overheard the clean-up crew muttering among themselves earlier this morning, and he's sure Baekhyun and Chanyeol are nervous.

He just doesn't know why they would be nervous.

Jaemin wipes sweat away from his forehead and stands upright, groaning as his back cracks painfully. His posture has turned atrocious — his mother would weep if she saw the way he's slouching nowadays.

Chenle comes running to him just as Jaemin finishes loading up the boxes on the truck. 

"Hey," Chenle pants, pupils blown wide. He darts his eyes around them, as if checking to see if there's anyone within earshot. "We need to talk. Now."

Jaemin nods, confused. Chenle doesn't normally appear this frazzled, so it's telling enough of how urgent it is.

Chenle leads him to a secluded corner, where only a few tents remain standing. Everyone has been working overtime to leave this town, and Jaemin worries it might mean what he thinks it means.

"Did they take anyone new?" Jaemin asks Chenle.

"What? No, no, that's not it. It's actually kind of weird, since it's been almost a year since…"

"Since they took us," Jaemin finishes for him.

Chenle nods, sighing. "Yeah. That's what I wanted to talk about."

Apprehension grips at Jaemin's throat.

"Did something happen to the guys?"

"Would you let me talk?" Chenle asks.

Jaemin scowls, but he nods. Chenle throws a glance over his shoulders before he speaks again.

"I heard Wendy and Sicheng talking just now," Chenle says. "Taeyong told them to circle back."

"Circle back?" Jaemin echoes.

"Yes. To Vrais."

"What?" 

Chenle bounces on his feet, nervous. "And he was very clear that he doesn't want to make any unnecessary stops, he wants to get there soon."

"But, why?"

Chenle shakes his head. "I have an idea, but I don't know for sure. I just know he's very adamant about going back."

Jaemin huffs and runs a hand through his hair. He has a theory about the inner circle and their connection to Vrais, but he can't be sure until they're back.

"Jungwoo said that they always find kids with powers in Vrais," Jaemin says, "And they haven't taken anyone from any of the towns we've been to in the past year."

"Yeah?"

"They have the eight of us," Jaemin continues, talking more to himself than to Chenle. "Why would they need to go back and get more?"

Chenle reaches the same conclusion as him, at the same time. Jaemin can see it clear as day on his face.

"They're either planning on killing us, or we aren't enough anymore," Chenle says. 

"Exactly," Jaemin confirms. "Either way, we have to stop them."

"How? You guys haven't made much progress, and with all stops cancelled, we're going to spend the next month or two stuck in the cars."

"That doesn't mean we can't practice," Jaemin says. "I need to sleep to practice, so does Jeno. And the other three don't need much space to do the things they do."

Chenle presses his lips together. Jaemin frowns at the sudden change of his demeanor, but before he can ask, Chenle clears his throat.

"There's something else you should know."

"What now?" Jaemin groans.

Chenle rolls his eyes at him. "It's about my power. It's something we could use against them, when the need arises."

"Yeah? What is it?"

"I kind of fooled them into thinking it's something else," Chenle says softly. "It wasn't on purpose, at first. When my powers appeared, they assumed it was like Seulgi."

"A block?" Jaemin asks.

"Yeah, but it isn't like hers. I have a psychic shield, I can protect myself and maybe two or three more people, but I can't block their powers."

"But they think you can," Jaemin guesses.

Chenle nods, and if Jaemin weren't mistaken, he would think Chenle looks embarrassed.

"They all tried to use their powers on me, but they couldn't. Then, they wanted to use them on each other, just to check, and I shielded them."

"Totally not on purpose," Jaemin raises an eyebrow. 

"Shut up," Chenle grumbles. "I did it because I realised I had something I could use. I need them to think I'm like Seulgi."

"Why?" Jaemin asks. 

"Because," Chenle says, "If Seulgi puts a block on someone's powers, and she dies, the powers go away. Her block is permanent, and with her gone, they're screwed."

"That's why they keep you alive," Jaemin sighs. "They won't risk killing you if there's a slight chance you could take their powers with you."

"It isn't just me," Chenle adds. "I made it very clear that if they touch a hair on Jisung's hair, I won't hesitate to put a knife to my throat."

Of course. Jaemin understands now, at least a little, why Jisung is so protective of Chenle. It isn't just friendship, it's gratitude. 

"Okay, so, to summarize." Jaemin lifts one finger, "We don't know why, but the inner circle needs to go back to Vrais. It's probably related to why we haven't seen much of them today."

"Right," Chenle nods.

Another finger. "You've been fooling them for years about your true powers. Not something we want them to know."

"Not in a million years."

A final finger. "We only have around two months before we reach Vrais again. In that time, we need to practice our powers and come up with a plan."

"It doesn't give us much time," Chenle says. "Especially if we want to stop them before we get to town."

"We should talk to the others," Jaemin suggests. "Can you find Jisung and Jungwoo? Tell them to meet us in our tent."

They split up, with Chenle taking off in the direction to the animal tents, while Jaemin goes to look for his friends.

He finds Jeno first, shoveling dirt away from one of the trucks. 

"It's stuck?" Jaemin asks. Jeno grunts in response. "Okay, well, we need to talk. Meet us at the tent as soon as you can."

Donghyuck and Renjun are packing up at the dressing room/tent, covered in glitter and body paint. They're just as excited about everything as Jeno, which means they aren't at all.

Finally, Yangyang is the only one done with his chores for the day. He goes back to their tent with Jaemin, chatting his ears off about a squirrel he saw in the morning and how much he's been craving chocolate.

"What's this about?" Yangyang asks him, finished with his recounting of the day.

"I would rather wait until everyone's here," Jaemin smiles softly.

Yangyang hums. Jaemin looks off to the side — he hasn't spent any time alone with Yangyang since that night, the night of the music, and he isn't sure where they stand. 

As if it isn't enough with everything else in his life, Jaemin has boy problems on top of it.

Jaemin doesn't do a very good job at hiding his relief when the other boys return, if Renjun's shake of his head is any indication.

"What did you want to talk about?"

Chenle hasn't returned yet, but Jaemin doesn't think there's a problem with telling them first. Jaemin tells them everything Chenle told him, excluding the bit about his powers — he doesn't think many people should know the truth, just in case. 

He also tells them about his conclusions regarding Vrais, and the inner circle. 

"You think they're connected to Vrais?" Renjun asks.

"I don't know for sure," Jaemin shrugs, "But there's something there."

Their missing three choose that moment to come back. Like the rest of them, they've been working outside all day — Jisung sports a nasty sunburn, so Yangyang urges him to sit with him, getting to work right away.

"Have you told them yet?" Chenle asks Jaemin. At his affirmative nod, he says, "Good, me too. Jungwoo said he has an idea."

"It's not much of a plan," Jungwoo says to them, "But it could work, maybe."

Jeno chuckles, wiping his forehead with his shirt. It comes back covered in dirt, much how he is. "Let's hear it. It can't be worse than our current, nonexistent plan."

"Okay, so, I think we should try escaping once we reach Vrais." At their silence, he says, "You're from there, you know the area. Obviously, there are a few steps before this, but you could find the police station or someone you can trust."

"Johnny," Donghyuck murmurs. "He's a detective, and his partner, Doyoung, we can trust him too."

"What about the steps before that?" Renjun asks.

"First thing we need to do is get rid of Sicheng."

"How?" Jaemin asks.

Jungwoo looks at him. "We kill him. Or, at least, maim him. Enough to make sure he can't send us flying."

Jaemin exhales. None of them is comfortable with the idea of murder, that much is clear.

"Chenle, we'll need you to keep them from turning us against one another. We'll start a distraction, although I don't know what kind. As soon as we can, we set this place on fire, and we run."

Jeno nods. "Fire. Like how they…"

"Yeah," Jungwoo confirms. "Seemed fitting. I told you it isn't much, but…"

"But it's something," Donghyuck interrupts him. "We can use it. Chenle, you said we could use the trip back to Vrais to practice?"

"Yeah, I mean," Chenle shrugs, "None of us has something flashy or that needs a lot of space. We don't even know if Jeno or Jaemin will be of much help, but Renjun could keep an eye on our future?"

Renjun startles as all eyes turn to him. "Uh, yeah, I guess? I haven't seen much lately, though. I saw that Jeno would slip on mud the other day, but that's it."

"Thanks for the warning, by the way."

"Still," Chenle says, "We can try."

"Alright," Yangyang grins, pulling away from Jisung's healed skin. "We have something to work with. That's good, right?"

"How are you always so peppy?" Donghyuck stares at him. 

"It's called positive thinking, you should try it sometime."

Donghyuck scowls at him. Yangyang sticks his tongue out. 

"We're leaving in a few hours," Jisung says, jumping in before they can argue. "I suggest we get packing, before Yuta loses his mind and kills us just for making him late."

"Also," Jungwoo says, standing up, "I think they're getting suspicious. We shouldn't spend so much time alone, so the next time we stop someplace, we should try to act normal."

"Normal?" Jaemin snorts.

"As normal as we can," Jungwoo amends.

Later, as they load the last of their things on the animal's truck, Jaemin glances at Donghyuck, who's staring at Jeno, and shakes his head.

"You could afford to be a little less obvious," Jaemin says to him. "Or, I don't know, grow some balls."

"I will," Donghyuck says, without taking his eyes off the boy. "As soon as we're out of here."

"Good," Jaemin grins. "I don't like pining."

"You're one to talk," Donghyuck grumbles. "I've seen how you look at Yangyang. Especially after that night."

"Hey, we're on the same boat here," Jaemin tells him. "I don't exactly plan to woo him while we're kidnapped."

Donghyuck sighs, all traces of amusement gone. "What are the odds, huh?"

"I'm sure we could ask Renjun."

"No," Renjun says, coming up behind them. "I have no desire to get involved in your mess. You can figure it out yourselves."

Still, Renjun winks at them. Jaemin will count that as a good omen.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **murder, blood and violence, body horror, incineration, threats of suicide**

Sicheng isn't hard to find. He has a routine, just like they all do, and Donghyuck knows it like the back of his hand.

  


There isn't much to do around here, after all, so Donghyuck spends his time people-watching. 

  


He knows Sicheng always helps set up the tents when they arrive someplace new. He's strong, freakishly so, and Donghyuck has seen him lift three boxes at once. 

  


Donghyuck follows him from the truck to the park where they will set camp. It's a familiar area, where Donghyuck and his family used to have picnics when he was a kid. He knows this place from top to bottom, and he could probably get away now.

  


He doesn't, though. They have a plan, and they need to stick to it.

  


Sicheng doesn't suspect anything. Donghyuck helps hammer the nails to the ground, and they tie the ropes, working together. Donghyuck doesn't speak, neither does Sicheng, and it isn't long before they're done. 

  


"Take those boxes inside," Sicheng says, lifting a nearby table. "We have to set up quickly and move on to the next."

  


"Yes, sir," Donghyuck mutters. 

  


Donghyuck carries the boxes as he's told, grunting to himself — he swears they load rocks in these things just to fuck with him.

  


"You can put them over there," Sicheng calls over his shoulder. 

  


He drops the box on the ground, next to the table. He hears a metallic clank inside, and Donghyuck figures this is his chance.

  


Careful as to not make a sound, Donghyuck rifles through the box until he finds what makes that noise: a metal bar, probably a leftover from the truck that broke down three weeks ago. 

  


That was a messy day, Donghyuck thinks to himself, grimacing. He remembers the grease, the oil, and how fucking annoying it was to move everything to the other cars.

  


Donghyuck grabs the metal bar. Sicheng has his back turned to him, and he’s saying something about buying new rope. 

  


He only has one chance. Donghyuck tightens his grip, lifting the bar like a baseball bat.

  


Just like a game, he thinks to himself. 

  


Sicheng straightens up. He's going to turn around, and Donghyuck panics. He swings the metal bar.

  


It collides with Sicheng's skull with a crunching sound. Blood flies everywhere, splattering on Donghyuck's face, and Sicheng hits the ground.

  


"Holy shit."

  


Donghyuck drops the metal bar by Sicheng's body, then falls to his knees. He leans over, prods Sicheng's shoulder once, twice, thrice — nothing happens. Gingerly, he puts a hand to Sicheng's nose, and he doesn't feel anything. He isn't breathing.

  


"Oh, my God," Donghyuck mutters to himself. 

  


There's so much blood. And it's everywhere. Donghyuck wipes his face and his hands come back red, covered in blood. He imagines his face must look the same.

  


The body. Donghyuck can't leave him like this, out in the open for anyone to find. 

  


Donghyuck casts a cursory glance around the tent. The only spot he can find that could possibly hide Sicheng's body are the boxes, but he would never fit inside them.

  


"Well, if not inside," Donghyuck grumbles, "Then behind them."

  


Dead bodies are heavy, Donghyuck realises. He grabs Sicheng by the legs and starts pulling him back, but he slips on the blood. He didn't know head injuries could produce all this blood, either.

  


"Come on," Donghyuck grunts. He drags Sicheng's body across the muddy ground, slipping then and again, but he pulls it off, and he reaches the boxes.

  


Therein lies another problem, however. There aren't enough boxes to cover his entire body. 

  


"You gotta be kidding me."

  


"Hyuck? Are you in there?"

  


"Jeno? I'm in here."

  


The next second, Jeno enters the tent, dressed a little warmly for the weather — he must have grabbed the jacket from one of the boxes. Much like Donghyuck, he slips on the blood, barely catching himself before he meets the floor.

  


"Fuck," Jeno gasps. "Hyuck, what the hell? Did you stab him in the face or something?"

  


"More like hit him in the head," Donghyuck corrects him, pointing at the ground by Jeno's feet.

  


"You hit him with a crowbar?" Jeno asks.

  


"Huh, is that what that is? I knew it was a part of a car," Donghyuck mumbles to himself.

  


Jeno rolls his eyes. He steps around the mess on the floor, then makes a double take. "You're covered in blood. Oh, man, we can't have you walking around like that, they'll know we're up to something."

  


"Well, what do you want me to do?" Donghyuck sighs. 

  


Jeno shrugs and looks at the ground. He grimaces at the sight of Sicheng's body, darting his eyes elsewhere. 

  


"Wait here," he tells Donghyuck, "I think I saw a box with sheets outside. We can cover him up."

  


Donghyuck waits, because he doesn't have anything better to do. Jeno isn't gone for long, and he returns with a large, white sheet in his arms.

  


They lay the sheet over his body. Donghyuck nods, satisfied with their work, but Jeno won't stop staring at him.

  


"What?" 

  


"We need to do something about your face."

  


Donghyuck frowns, offended. "Hey."

  


"You know what I mean," Jeno sighs. "There's too much blood. It's on your hair and clothes, too."

  


Donghyuck figures he doesn't have much of a choice. He concentrates, gritting his teeth through the pain, and a pack of wet wipes falls from his arm.

  


"I thought we agreed you wouldn't do that anymore," Jeno says, disapproval written all over his face. "It's painful, and dangerous."

  


"What, you have a better idea?" Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. "Are you gonna help me or what?"

  


Jeno sighs, muttering a few choice words under his breath. Still, he takes a few wet wipes from the pack and helps Donghyuck get rid of the blood. 

  


"You're an idiot," Jeno tells him. It's a little hard to take his scolding seriously, though, considering he's cleaning the blood from Donghyuck's cheeks. "We'll have to sneak you into our tent and get you a new shirt."

  


"This shirt is fine," Donghyuck waves him off. "We won't be here for long."

  


"At least take my jacket," he says, shrugging it off. "I'm serious, we can't let them see you like this."

  


Donghyuck takes the jacket. It's warm from Jeno's body heat, and big on his frame, but it does the work of covering up the blood on his clothes.

  


"Alright, I'm wearing it. Now what? Did the guys do their part?"

  


Jeno nods, wiping the last of the blood below Donghyuck's eyes. "I think so, yeah. It wasn't easy, but I found these," he shows off a set of car keys. "I just don't know which car these belong to."

  


"We'll figure it out," Donghyuck says. "Come on, let's find the guys. "

  


It's bright and early, much to Donghyuck's chagrin. It means there are zero chances of hiding the blood stains in the dark, so they have to be extra careful while treading through the lot. Jeno walks ahead, to make sure the coast is clear before Donghyuck joins him.

  


"Yangyang said they'd be with the animals," Jeno tells him. "I don't know if they're all done, but I think we should go there either way, just in case."

  


They sneak to the other side of camp. They always set up the animals first, to make sure they'll be tied up and taken care of while they deal with everything else. 

  


It smells like a petting zoo, as usual. Donghyuck wrinkles his nose before they're even inside the tent, because the stench of the elephants and the lions is that strong. 

  


Yangyang and Jisung are inside. So is Seulgi, tied up and gagged on the ground. She rolls her eyes when they come in, and she doesn't need to speak for Donghyuck to sense her exasperation.

  


"How did it go?" Jisung asks them.

  


"He's dead," Donghyuck confirms. Jeno flashes the car keys. "What about the others?"

  


"Jaemin should be back soon," Yangyang says, glancing through the gaps in the tent. "I see Renjun, too."

  


Renjun’s face is that of unmasked fury and disgust. He marches up to Donghyuck, holding what he knows is a matchbox, but he doesn’t give them to him just yet.

  


“You promise me,” Renjun says, his voice trembling, “That this is the last time I ever have to go near those damned clowns again.”

  


“We promise,” Jeno replies. 

  


Renjun stares at Jeno, eyes hardened, then at Donghyuck. He drops the matchbox on Donghyuck’s hand, nodding. 

  


“Thank you,” Donghyuck whispers.

  


“Whatever. Where’s everyone else?” Renjun asks. He only takes notice of Seulgi then, because his eyes widen, and he stumbles back in shock. “Whoa. How’d you pull that off?”

  


Seulgi lunges forward, as if to attack him, but she lands on her face. Donghyuck feels a surge of satisfaction.

  


“It wasn’t easy,” Jisung says. “But Yangyang snuck up on her.”

  


Donghyuck takes a seat on the ground, across from Seulgi. She glares at him, her pupils shrunk, eyes glowing red, her body slumped to the side. Donghyuck looks away instantly.

  


“What now?” Jisung asks. 

  


“Now we wait for the others to show up,” Renjun replies. “I think Chenle and Jungwoo are almost done. I saw them a few minutes ago, by the food carts.”

  


Jeno’s head snaps to the side. “What? By the food carts?”

  


“Yeah?” Renjun blinks. 

  


“Why? They’re not supposed to be anywhere near the gates, they’re supposed to –” Jeno clamps his mouth shut, glancing sideways at Seulgi. In spite of her unfortunate position, she manages to raise a condescending eyebrow in his direction. “What were they doing at the food carts?”

  


Renjun shakes his head, shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

  


Jeno takes a deep breath, slowly, and then exhales. Donghyuck watches his shoulders line with tension, and he can’t blame him. Chenle was supposed to be distracting Yuta, and Jungwoo should be procuring the gasoline. 

  


“Alright,” Jeno says, “Let’s just wait for them to get here.”

  


“That’s the plan,” Donghyuck mumbles.

  


Renjun sits next to him. Donghyuck glances at his hands, notices their tremor, and takes one in his own. Renjun doesn’t look at him, his eyes fixated on the dirty ground, but he squeezes Donghyuck’s fingers.

  


Just a few more hours, Donghyuck thinks. Just a few more hours, and we’re out of here, in a car headed for the police station, where Johnny will help them. 

  


Donghyuck’s used to Johnny bailing him out of trouble. Ever since he was a kid, and he and Mark would get up to the dumbest of shenanigans, they always ran to Johnny for help. And Johnny always helped, no matter how stupid it was. He was their own get out of jail free card.

  


Jisung and Yangyang sit close to the lions’ cage in silence. Jeno stands close to the opening of the tent, arms crossed, stoic, eyes trained on Seulgi. She tried to sit up a few minutes ago, but couldn’t, so now she lies on the ground, breathing heavily, her eyes promising murder as soon as she gets out of those binds.

  


“I wonder what time it is,” Donghyuck says. It’s the first thing any of them has said in who knows how long.

  


Renjun shrugs. “Don’t know. I’m getting worried,” he whispers to him. He obviously doesn’t want the others to hear him. “Where are they?”

  


“They’ll be here soon,” Donghyuck reassures him. It doesn’t sound as if he believes it. He accidentally meets eyes with Seulgi and shudders. “Could someone put a cloth over her or something? Please?”

  


Jeno picks up a dirty rag from a crate and puts it over her face. Seulgi tries to say something through the rag in her mouth, and Donghyuck doesn’t actually need to hear the words to know what she’s saying. 

  


She’s going to kill them if she gets her hands on them.

  


Chenle bursts into the tent, dishevelled and out of breath. There’s a trail of blood traveling down his temple, and he sports a black eye.

  


“What happened to you?” Yangyang asks, standing up. “Why are you bleeding?”

  


“Yuta knows,” Chenle whimpers. Donghyuck and Renjun snap to attention. “I don’t know how, but he knows we’re doing something. He hit me and then he left to warn the others.”

  


Yangyang touches the side of his head. Chenle winces as the wound begins to heal, but he thanks Yangyang quietly once he’s done. 

  


“Did he say anything else?” Jeno asks him, urgency in his tone. “Chenle, look at me, did he say anything else?”

  


Chenle shakes his head. He’s teary-eyed and terrified, and Jeno isn’t exactly helping – his stare is hard, his hands gripping Chenle’s shoulders hard enough that his knuckles have turned white, and there’s a tightness to his jaw that Donghyuck doesn’t like.

  


“Jeno,” Renjun murmurs, approaching him. Jeno doesn’t even look at him. “Jeno, let him go.”

  


“Chenle,” Jeno says. “What happened?”

  


Chenle whines. “You’re hurting me,” he whispers to him. 

  


A tense second later, Jeno drops his hold. Donghyuck releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

  


“I was doing what you said,” Chenle says. “I found Yuta, and I tried to distract him. I asked him dumb shit about the preparations for tonight, about his show. One second he was annoyed with me, trying to get me to piss off, and the second…”

  


“You were made,” Jeno finishes for him. Chenle nods, staring at his feet. Jeno groans quietly. “Fuck. Where’s Jungwoo? Jaemin? Have you seen them?”

  


Chenle denies with a quick shake of his head. “I could barely get away from Yuta. He was so mad,” he adds softly.

  


Jeno pulls him into a half hug, letting Chenle cling to his shirt for a minute or two while he calms down. Jeno looks at the rest of them over Chenle’s head and says, “We need to find them. They’re in danger out there.”

  


“Shouldn’t we stick to the plan?” Yangyang asks. 

  


Donghyuck knows that isn’t an option, though. They can’t leave those two behind, not in a million years. God knows what those people will do to them if they find them.

  


“If they stuck to the plan, then Jungwoo has to be either by the cars, or with the fireworks dude,” Renjun says. “Jaemin… he’s supposed to be keeping guard.”

  


“I’m afraid that’s not where he is.”

  


Donghyuck’s entire body freezes. He dreads to turn around, and he doesn’t need to, not really. He meets eyes with Yangyang and curses quietly. 

  


They just got these kids killed.

  


* * *

  


Jaehyun finishes tying the rope around Donghyuck’s wrists, moving on once he’s sure he cut off all the circulation of his blood. Donghyuck hisses, trying to flex his fingers, but Jeno warns him not to with a whisper.

  


“You,” Jaehyun says, finally standing up, “are staying here for a while. Don’t make a peep, don’t move, don’t try to get out of those. If you do, I’ll kill you myself. Got it?”

  


He doesn’t wait for any of them to reply. He doesn’t care to hear what they have to say, anyway. Jaehyun grins, pure evil and mocking, and waves goodbye before he leaves the tent. 

  


“Where do you think they are?” Renjun asks. “I mean, they must have them somewhere, right? They couldn’t have just –”

  


Donghyuck closes his eyes. He knows where Renjun was headed with that sentence.

  


“They’re not,” Donghyuck grinds out. “They’re fine. I’m sure they’re fine.”

  


No one replies. 

  


Jaehyun tied them together; Donghyuck, Jeno, and Renjun in one circle, their feet tied to each other, similar to how they did when they brought them in, and Yangyang, Chenle, and Jisung are next to them. 

  


They’re in a tent Donghyuck hasn’t seen before. It’s better decorated than the ones he’s been in, that’s for sure, and it has two beds. Two honest-to-God beds – mattresses, headboards, and all. Donghyuck wonders where they’ve stashed those during moving days, considering he never saw them. 

  


Things litter half the tent: there’s an open coffer with clothes spilling out, a desk with papers and photos, and random knick knacks cover the floor, while the other half is completely clean.

  


This must be Taeyong’s tent, Donghyuck assumes, considering all the papers strewn about. It makes sense for the ringmaster to have the best arrangements. 

  


“Do you hear that?” Yangyang asks. 

  


Chenle makes a sound. ”What?”

  


“It sounds like wind chimes,” Yangyang says. “My mom had those in the front porch.”

  


“I don’t see anything,” Jeno tells him.

  


Donghyuck does. Above them, hanging from a supporting plank of wood, are a handful of wind chimes. The tubes aren’t anything special, all grey-ish, faded, shaped like a curved knife.

  


“Pretty,” Yangyang mumbles. “I miss my mom’s wind chimes.”

  


“Those aren’t like your mom’s,” Jisung says solemnly. “They’re made of human rib bones. Every time they lose someone, they make sure to keep a bit of them.”

  


“Don’t ever say Taeyong isn’t the sentimental type,” Chenle snorts. 

  


Oh. Donghyuck swallows down the bile threatening to spill out of his mouth and directs his eyes elsewhere.

  


Something tickles his wrists. Donghyuck tries to look over his shoulders, but it’s futile. Renjun goes, “Huh?”, also trying to look back. That’s when Donghyuck sees the strange tension in Jeno’s shoulders, how he’s bent forward just that much.

  


“What are you doing?” Donghyuck hisses. 

  


“If there’s one thing I learned from always being in Officer Suh’s bad side, it’s how to break out of dumb restraints like this.”

  


Donghyuck doesn’t have more than two seconds to process that statement, or the familiarity of the name, before he feels Jeno’s nails catch on the skin of his hand. Donghyuck grunts as the nails rake down, drawing blood, but he doesn’t complain.

  


“It’s too easy,” Renjun mutters to them. “Too easy to get out of these.”

  


“They’re tight,” Jeno says back. He jostles them both as he tries to wiggle one hand out of the binds. “We’re lucky we’re not losing a limb.”

  


“I think that’s what he meant to happen,” Donghyuck says.

  


Jeno struggles some more, knocking his shoulder into Donghyuck’s, and then Donghyuck feels one of his hands slide free of the ropes. 

  


“Too easy,” Renjun says again, more anxious this time.

  


“I don’t care if it’s too easy,” Jeno snaps, breaking his other hand free before getting to work on the rope around their feet. “I don’t plan on sitting around and wait for them to come kill us. I’m going to look for Jaemin and Jungwoo.”

  


“Why does that sound like you’re going alone?” Yangyang asks sharply. 

  


“That’s because I am.”

  


“Like hell you are. Untie me, now. I’m coming with you.”

  


“No, Yangyang,” Jeno sighs. “I’m untying you, but only so you can get them out. Here,” he says, dropping the car keys on Yangyang’s now free hands. “You’re gonna figure out what car these belong to, and you’re getting the fuck out of here.”

  


“Don’t be stupid,” Renjun tells him. His hands tremble as he breaks free of the ropes around his feet. “You can’t just take them on by yourself.”

  


“I won’t,” Jeno reassures him, though no one believes it. “I’ll find the other two, and they’ll help me. We’ll stick to the plan.”

  


Jisung shakes off the ropes and stands up, pale as a ghost. “Jeno, you can’t go in there alone. They’ll rip you apart before you can even blink.”

  


“I’ll be fine,” Jeno waves him off. “We’ll meet you out on the road, like we said.”

  


“Jeno,” Donghyuck whispers. His mouth tastes awful, and his head swims with the possibilities of Jeno and the others never making it to the road. “Don’t do this. Let us come with you.”

  


Jeno glances toward the others. Renjun nudges Yangyang, and they subtly move Chenle and Jisung a few feet away. It’s about as much privacy as they’ll ever get, and Jeno knows it. He sighs, moving closer. He cups Donghyuck’s face in his hands and presses their foreheads together.

  


“You’re going to be okay,” Jeno whispers.

  


Donghyuck shakes his head, tearing up. “It’s not me I’m worried about.”

  


“I know,” Jeno says, smiling softly. Donghyuck shuts his eyes closed – he can’t do this. “But I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

  


Donghyuck clenches his jaw, working up the last of his nerves, and closes the gap between them. Jeno makes a sound of surprise as their lips meet, but he kisses him back instantly. Their kiss tastes like tears. 

  


“If you let our first kiss be the last,” Donghyuck grits, “I’ll haul you back from the dead just to kill you again.”

  


Jeno laughs, pecking his lips again. “See? The first won’t be the last, and neither will this one. Go now. I’ll get Jaemin and Jungwoo.”

  


Donghyuck is reluctant to leave, but Jeno’s right. Even if it kills him to admit it, he is. Their only chance is to stick to their plan, and that means they need to move. They have the car keys, and Donghyuck gives Jeno the box of matches. 

  


“I don’t think I need to say this,” Renjun says to Jeno, eyes wide and earnest, “But don’t let them get you, Jeno, or I swear to God –”

  


Jeno pulls him into a hug. Renjun clutches the back of Jeno’s tattered shirt, then Yangyang – Donghyuck thinks Yangyang hugs him with anger rather than sorrow, and a small voice in the back of his head thinks it’s cute, in a sad way. Chenle and Jisung engulf Jeno in a hug as well, and Donghyuck doesn’t like what this feels like.

  


It feels like a goodbye.

  


Jeno leaves the tent first. The rest of them wait for two minutes, during which Jisung bites at his fingernails raw, and then Renjun sighs, nodding.

  


It isn’t easy, sneaking around. Yangyang keeps looking over his shoulders, and Chenle nearly faints at every little sound, whether it’s made by them or something else. It feels as if there’s someone at every corner they turn, and Donghyuck doesn’t think he could survive a heart attack today. 

  


They stop behind one of the smaller tents and peer around the side. They’re less than a hundred feet from the parking lot, and there’s only one thing between them and the car: a clown.

  


“I hate that motherfucker,” Renjun murmurs. Donghyuck suppresses a smile at the expletive. “How are we supposed to get to the cars now?”

  


“I think I know how,” Yangyang says. 

  


Before Donghyuck can ask, Yangyang puckers his lips, frowning. Donghyuck makes a double take, spluttering, “What are you doing?”

  


“Shush,” Yangyang hushes him. 

  


“You look constipated,” Chenle says to him.

  


Yangyang doesn’t spare him a glance. The next second, the clown falls to the ground, and it doesn’t move again.

  


Donghyuck gapes at Yangyang. “How did you do that?”

  


“Yuta isn’t the only one working on the dark side,” Yangyang mumbles. “Come on, let’s go. Before anyone else comes.”

  


They rush through the clearing to the cars, where Donghyuck presses the lock button on the key-chain’s control. The van beeps, and Donghyuck thinks at least something went their way.

  


As they climb inside the van, Renjun says, “It’s kind of poetic, in an ironic sort of way. We came in here in this van, and we leave in it.”

  


“I don’t know about poetic,” Donghyuck snorts, starting the car. “But it’s convenient. Let’s get out of here.”

  


Donghyuck thanks his lucky stars he hounded his mom for driving lessons the moment he turned seventeen years old. He drives the van out of the parking lot, wishing with everything he has that no one sees them, or that they don’t run into anyone. Renjun mumbles something incoherently in the passenger’s seat, something that sounds like a prayer. 

  


“Pull over here,” Yangyang says, five minutes out of the lot. “So they don’t have to walk far.”

  


Donghyuck kills the engine with a sigh. His heart’s hammering like crazy in his chest, and he has to force himself to breathe normally. Renjun’s tense next to him, brows furrowed.

  


“Have you seen anything?” Donghyuck asks him.

  


Renjun denies with his head. “No. Nothing, not for almost two months. No matter how hard I try, I can’t see anything.”

  


“Hey, can I ask,” Donghyuck says, glancing back at Yangyang. “Why tie up Seulgi? What was the point?”

  


“Don’t ask me, ask Chenle,” Yangyang shrugs. “He was the one that came up with that idea.”

  


Chenle, although he seems surprised that they brought him up, says, “I figured it was worth a shot. Before, Kunhang read their minds because something caused Seulgi to slip up, right? I thought maybe I could find a way to block her powers.”

  


“It didn’t work,” Jisung adds. 

  


Chenle gives him the stink eye. Donghyuck looks ahead, staring at the road. It’s a beautiful morning in Vrais, he thinks painfully. 

  


“How much longer do we have to wait?” Yangyang asks. 

  


“As long as it takes,” Donghyuck gripes. 

  


Renjun looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “The plan said to wait for fifteen minutes. If they’re not here in ten –”

  


“We’ll wait,” Donghyuck interrupts him. He isn’t taking no for an answer. 

  


“Hyuck, I get that you want to wait for him,” Renjun says. “But we can’t throw the plan away. It’s already fucked all the way to Sunday as it is.”

  


“Exactly. So what does it matter if we wait twenty minutes instead of fifteen, huh?”

  


No one answers. Donghyuck grips the wheel until his knuckles turn white.

  


Jisung suddenly sits up with a gasp. 

  


“Donghyuck. I thought you said you killed Sicheng.”

  


“I did, why?”

  


“How the hell is he walking toward the van right now?”

  


Donghyuck peeks at the rear-view mirror and gasps in horror. There is Sicheng, drenched in his own blood, looking every bit as if he stepped off the set for Night of the Living Dead, except he’s very much alive. And he’s absolutely livid.

  


“That’s not possible,” Donghyuck whimpers, slouching down on his seat. “That’s not fucking possible, he was dead, I killed him, he wasn’t breathing.”

  


“He looks pretty alive to me,” Yangyang says back. 

  


Someone bangs on the driver’s door. Donghyuck startles, turning to see Yuta standing outside the van. He grins maniacally and waves at them, his hands stained with blood.

  


“Open the door,” Yuta tells him, “Before I liquefy your eyeballs.”

  


“Where are they?” Donghyuck snaps.

  


Yuta rolls his eyes. “Well, Jeno’s getting ready for dinner. And your pals Jungwoo and Jaemin are about to join him.”

  


* * *

  


It smells awfully like blood inside this cave. It’s muddy, cold, damp, and dark. 

  


Donghyuck strains his eyes to see anything past his nose and fails. He shivers in his restraints, thinking that he’s getting really tired of getting tied up and thrown about by these people. At least this time they aren’t all tied to each other.

  


“Ugh,” Donghyuck groans. His head is throbbing, right where Yuta hit him to get him to stop struggling. “Where are we?”

  


“Not at the circus,” Renjun replies, somewhere to his left. “That much I can tell you.”

  


_No shit_ , Donghyuck thinks. “Where are the others?”

  


By nothing short of a miracle, all the boys mutter something in response. All the boys, except for Jeno.

  


“Jeno?” Donghyuck calls out. No answer. To the side, Renjun murmurs a curse word before calling Jeno’s name as well. Donghyuck bites his bottom lip until it bleeds to keep from crying. “Jaemin, are you there?”

  


“Yes,” Jaemin says back.

  


“What the hell happened? Where were you? Why didn’t you make it back? Where’s Jeno?”

  


“You’re asking too many questions,” Jaemin snaps. “Sooyoung caught me with the gasoline. She took me to Taeyong. Jeno came looking for us and they knocked him out.”

  


“Jungwoo, where are you?” 

  


“I’m right here, Hyuck,” comes Jungwoo’s soft voice, deeper in the cave. “I couldn’t keep them distracted, I’m sorry. Ten saw right through me.”

  


“Did you see where they took him?” Yangyang asks. He sounds groggy, as if he’s waking up from a long sleep. 

  


Jungwoo doesn’t say anything for a good while. Donghyuck only grows more anxious as the seconds pass, and it makes him angry. 

  


“Jungwoo,” Donghyuck bites out. “Did you see where they took Jeno?”

  


“Don’t worry, Jeno’s right here.” That’s Baekhyun’s voice. 

  


Footsteps, coming from further south. More than one pair, if Donghyuck isn’t mistaken. Anticipation builds in his throat, growing stronger as he sees a faint glow of light in the distance. That must be Baekhyun’s doing, or Chanyeol’s.

  


Less than a minute later, Baekhyun comes into view. The sphere of light comes from his hands, his chest, and his eyes, almost blinding if looked at directly. Behind him, Chanyeol carries a lump over his shoulder.

  


Except that’s no lump.

  


“Jeno,” Renjun whispers. Donghyuck can’t even open his mouth to speak.

  


Chanyeol drops Jeno’s unconscious body on the ground, in front of Jaemin. The boy looks down at Jeno and makes a distorted sound of panic, whimpering, “What the hell did you do to him?”

  


“We fed from him,” Chanyeol says, cheery. “What else?”

  


Donghyuck squints to see in the dim light. There’s blood on Jeno’s neck, but that’s as far as he can see.

  


“Chenle,” Baekhyun says, nearing the boy. Yangyang hisses something about staying away from him, but Baekhyun ignores him. “Tell me, why were you keeping Jaehyun distracted? And why did you have to kidnap poor Seulgi?”

  


Chenle keeps his mouth shut. Baekhyun sighs, crouching down in front of him. He grabs a handful of Chenle’s hair and lifts his head sharply, forcing him to make eye contact.

  


“Answer me,” Baekhyun says, his voice low.

  


“Or what?” Chenle spits. “You have nothing against me.”

  


“No? I think you’re underestimating me.”

  


Chenle doesn’t reply. Baekhyun tsks, standing up, and moves to kneel over Jeno’s body, placing a hand on his head.

  


“He’s already losing his eyesight from blood loss,” he says conversationally, as if he were discussing something as simple as the weather. “Do you want me to blind him? To get it over with?”

  


Donghyuck whimpers, his eyes trained on Jeno. He's still unconscious, his chest rising slowly with every breath.

  


“We needed to distract you,” Chenle growls. “Now leave him alone.”

  


Baekhyun shakes his head. Either Donghyuck is imagining things, or Baekhyun is enjoying this. Nevertheless, he leaves Jeno’s side, and Donghyuck relaxes minutely.

  


“The others will be here soon,” he says. “Taeyong will deal with you.”

  


“It’s almost too bad,” Chanyeol adds, flicking a flame on his fingers. “I kinda liked you, kids. You didn’t let the clowns get away with their crap,” he points at them. 

  


Donghyuck bites back the urge to cuss at him. 

  


True to Baekhyun’s words, Taeyong and the rest of his circle join them soon enough. Donghyuck doesn’t need to see to know that Taeyong is beyond furious – he can feel it in the air, as if his anger is a separate entity from him. 

  


“I cannot believe we’ve had two escape attempts in less than three years,” Taeyong states. He barks out a laugh, but it doesn’t sound amused. “Jaehyun, can you believe it?”

  


“No,” Jaehyun replies.

  


“And both times,” Taeyong continues, “They got the better of you, Seulgi.”

  


“It wasn’t my fault –”

  


“I’ll deal with you,” Taeyong cuts her off. “Later.”

  


Taeyong shakes his head. He turns to Jungwoo and says, “You told me they wouldn’t attempt anything until Monday. You lied to me.”

  


Donghyuck freezes.

  


“Did I?” Jungwoo says, almost too soft to be heard. “My, I’m sorry. It must have slipped my mind.”

  


Taeyong clenches his jaw. “I no longer care for what your lions may or may not do with you gone. Chanyeol.”

  


Donghyuck doesn’t have any time to react. Chanyeol sparks a fire in his hands and touches Jungwoo.

  


Jungwoo screams as his left arm goes up in flames. The cave fills with the scent of charred flesh and hair.

  


“Stop it!” Chenle shouts. “Taeyong, I swear, if you don’t make him stop –!”

  


The flames lick at Jungwoo’s torso. They’re making a slow climb to the rest of his body, no doubt excruciating. Donghyuck throws up, chunks of meat and soup landing on his lap and on the cave's floor, and he hears Renjun shout until his throat goes raw. Jungwoo’s still screaming, as well, as the fire burns his chest.

  


A roar comes from outside, followed by another scream that sounds much more like Tiffany. It’s cut short, then another roar, and Sooyoung screams.

  


Taeyong hisses. “Chanyeol. Stop it.”

  


Chanyeol touches Jungwoo again, and this time the flames flicker out, die. Jungwoo slumps sideways, his skin burnt, whimpering. Taeyong throws a disgusted glance at him.

  


“Fine. You don’t kill any more of my performers,” he says, wagging a finger at Jungwoo’s near-dead form, then another one at Chenle, “And you don’t threaten me.”

  


“I’m not done yet,” Chenle interrupts him. Taeyong’s so surprised, he doesn’t have anything to say. “Let them go. The five of them. I’ll stay, so will Jisung, and Jungwoo. But you let them go.”

  


“Impossible,” Taeyong snorts. “I think I’m just going to kill all of you and be done with it. I’ll take the other kids in this town, and burn this place to the ground. About time someone got rid of it.”

  


“No. Let them go. It doesn’t have to be here in Vrais.”

  


Taeyong laughs. “Why would I do what you want?”

  


“I meant it when I said I’d kill myself, Taeyong,” Chenle hisses. “I have nothing to lose but them, and I don’t give a shit about taking your stupid powers with me.”

  


Donghyuck can’t believe a word that’s flying out of Chenle’s mouth. He suspects no one else can, if he thinks about it. 

  


“I don’t take well to threats,” Taeyong warns him. 

  


“And I don’t like it when people try to burn my friends alive.”

  


There’s a tense moment of silence in which Taeyong does nothing but stare at Chenle, and Chenle only stares at him in return. 

  


“First things first,” Taeyong says. “Yuta. Heal Jungwoo. Seulgi, you make sure he doesn’t sic those damn cats on us. Oh, and do us all a favour: don't fuck up again.”

  


Yuta grumbles something despondent, but he gets to work. Jungwoo groans, kicking out feebly, as Yuta heals his burns, and Seulgi keeps her eyes on him. Donghyuck can’t choose whether to look at Jungwoo or Jeno.

  


He’s so preoccupied, in fact, that he doesn’t notice Yangyang struggling out of his ropes until he’s dashing across the cave for Jeno. They all stumble back, perhaps in shock, but he doesn’t do any of the things they think he will. He doesn’t go for any of them, he doesn’t try what he did with the clown earlier.

  


Yangyang places his hands on Jeno’s chest, his palms glowing. 

  


“You nearly drained him,” he whimpers. Donghyuck suspected that much, but Yangyang’s confirmation only hurts more. “He’s almost dead.”

  


“Then bring him back,” Jaehyun sighs. Donghyuck hears the roll of his eyes. 

  


Yangyang does. While Yuta heals the burns on Jungwoo’s body, Yangyang helps Jeno. Donghyuck watches them with keen eyes, and Renjun’s back to praying. 

  


Just as Jeno recovers consciousness, the lions enter the fray. Seulgi eyes them warily, as do Chanyeol and Baekhyun, but the others don’t pay attention to the animals. Taeyong’s staring at them, as if he’s imagining all the ways he’s going to kill them.

  


“Taeyong,” Irene speaks for the first time. “The lions.”

  


Taeyong doesn’t pay her any mind. Seulgi takes two, three steps backward, until she hits the wall. A lion stalks toward them, then pounces.

  


It lands on Yangyang with a roar. Yangyang screams, ripped away from Jeno, then shouts louder as a claw rakes down his torso, tearing his shirt. Taeyong finally seems to snap out of it, and he curses. 

  


For some reason, Chanyeol drags Yangyang out from under the lion, just out of reach. The other lion crouches near Yuta, near Jungwoo, as if waiting from instructions from his master.

  


Taeyong’s eyes narrow. “Chenle. You’re doing this?”

  


“No,” Chenle says. “Jungwoo is. He’s conscious enough to control one of them.”

  


On cue, the lion turns, and it growls at Irene. Donghyuck watches, anticipation thrumming in his veins, as the lion nears Irene, step by step, licking its lips. 

  


“Let them go,” croaks Jungwoo. “Or she bites it.”

  


Taeyong scowls at him. The lion jumps on Irene, who falls on her back with a shout. The lion doesn’t strike, not yet, but it’s dangerously close to snapping her head off. 

  


“Let them go,” Chenle repeats.

  


The lion growls at Irene, its spit landing on her face and its partner turns on Jaehyun. The man goes rigid as the lion approaches him, growling as well. This, at least, catches Taeyong’s attention.

  


“Baekhyun. Go get Sicheng.”

  


“What?”

  


“You heard me. Chanyeol, untie them.” Then, at the boys, he adds, “No funny business.”

  


Donghyuck wouldn’t dream of it. Chanyeol unties the five of them, quick and efficient, and Donghyuck rubs his reddened wrists with a scowl. Yangyang crawls back to Jeno as soon as he gets the chance, and continues to work his magic on him. 

  


When Baekhyun returns with Sicheng, Donghyuck takes notices of something he didn’t see back in the van: Sicheng is more injured than he thought. He expected the blow to his head to have done something to him – to have killed him, to be more specific – but instead Sicheng looks confused. Drowsy.

  


“You called?” Sicheng asks Taeyong.

  


Taeyong grunts. “Yes. Send those five away.”

  


“Wh –”

  


“I don’t care where you send them.”

  


Sicheng nods. But before he can do anything, Taeyong adds, “Just make sure it’s someplace they can’t crawl their way out from.”

  


“Bastard,” Jungwoo spits. “That wasn’t the deal.”

  


“Yes, it was,” Taeyong laughs. “You said to let them go, and I’m letting them go.”

  


The lion on top of Irene sinks its teeth down on her neck. The sound she makes is something Donghyuck is sure he will never forget. 

  


“Sicheng,” Taeyong barks. 

  


Donghyuck finds Renjun’s hand in the dark and squeezes. In front of them, Jaemin crawls to Jeno and Yangyang, scrambling to grab hold of them. Jisung makes a sound of confusion, still tightly bound.

  


The other lion jumps on Jaehyun and knocks him to the ground. Taeyong grabs Sicheng’s shirt and throws him around, repeating his order to send them away.

  


Sicheng claps his hands, once, and the world around Donghyuck turns white. 

  



	10. PART 3: THE CONFRONTATION

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> originally this part was called "this is the final countdown *guitar riff*" but that didn't seem like a very serious title rip
> 
> Warnings: **implied murder, slight mention of paranoia, guns**

Shortly after the clock turns to midnight, the detectives return to Detective Suh’s home, just as empty-handed as they were when they left.

“You couldn’t find them?” Renjun asks, half-rising from the couch. 

Detective Suh shrugs off his jacket as he shakes his head, stripping off his shoulder holster and placing his gun on the little table by the door.

“Turn on the news,” Detective Kim calls out to the living room, hanging up his suit jacket as well.

Jaemin does, reaching for the remote control. The TV has been blaring some corny game show reruns for the past hour and a half, not that any of them were paying attention. Yangyang hasn’t moved from his spot on the recliner in ages, not since the detectives decided to look for their missing companions.

It’s too late for the eleven o’clock news, so Yangyang doesn’t understand why the detectives might want them to tune into the news channel. At least, he sits up straight, turning his attention to the TV.

The reporter is standing in front of a white house, bundled up in a coat to fight off the midnight summer breeze. Behind her, two men dressed in dark blue overalls roll a stroller out of the house, a blanket thrown over a dead body, no doubt.

On the couch, Renjun stiffens. 

“You know her?” Yangyang asks. 

Renjun shakes his head. “Not her. The place. That’s the nursing home Hyuck and I visited the other day. Jaem, can you turn up the volume?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“–was found dead on her bed by a nurse, earlier in the evening. The authorities are yet to determine the cause of death, although no foul play is suspected. Mrs. Yoon was seventy-five years old and a senior resident of the Vrais Nursing Home of the Senior and the Disabled.”

“Oh, God,” Renjun moans. “That’s the lady that helped us, the one who told us about the last time the circus came here.”

“Yeah,” Detective Suh says, dropping on the couch with a huff. “We heard it from the dispatcher. She didn’t just die in her sleep.”

“What happened?” Yangyang asks.

“Apparently,” Detective Kim says, “she had a heart attack. The thing is, when the paramedics found her, she was clutching her chest, and her face was contorted.”

“Contorted?” Jaemin parrots.

“Yes. In fear. She was terrified right until the second her heart stopped beating, and then her face froze like that.”

Yangyang waves a hand. “Wait, hang on, are you saying she died of fear?”

“I need a beer,” Detective Suh states, getting up to head for the kitchen. “Or a hundred.”

Jaemin turns off the TV, then sits staring at the black screen. Yangyang sighs, curling up again on the recliner, and he picks up the throw pillow he’d dumped on the ground. 

“What else?” Renjun asks the detectives. “Did you go to the circus?”

Detective Suh comes back from the kitchen with two beers in hand. He gives one to his partner, who takes it and drinks all of it in one swig. Detective Suh imitates him before he can answer.

“We did. We found nothing but a bunch of kids running around and some assholes shoving balloon animals in our faces.”

Yangyang gulps. He’s had enough of balloon animals to last him a lifetime.

“No Jeno or Donghyuck, though,” Detective Kim says. “We did run into that ringmaster guy.”

Detective Suh shudders, returning to the kitchen. “I need another beer, I feel dirty.”

“He, uh… he kept looking at Johnny like he was a free meal served on a platter. It was creepy.”

“A beer isn’t gonna cut it,” Detective Suh mutters to himself, crossing from the kitchen to the bedrooms. “I need a shower.”

Detective Kim sighs. “We stayed at the circus until everyone else was gone,” he tells them, sitting down on the free chair. “There were no signs of the boys. After we left, we drove around town, checked every alley, every place we could think of. Johnny thought they might have gone to Donghyuck’s place, or Mark’s, but they weren’t there.”

“That’s when you heard about Mrs Yoon?” Renjun ventures.

“Yeah,” Detective Kim says. “I mean, the way she died… it can’t be a coincidence.”

They killed her. Yangyang shivers, squeezing the throw pillow against his chest. They must have found out she talked to Donghyuck and Renjun, and they figured she knew too much. 

“How’s Mark doing?” Jaemin asks.

Yangyang snorts. “How do you think? His best friend’s gone missing again. He must be freaking out.”

Detective Kim nods in agreement, closing his eyes. Renjun’s staring off into space, his mind miles away, and Yangyang isn’t sure he wants to know where he’s gone off to. 

“Now what?” Yangyang asks. 

“We wait until morning.” At Jaemin’s bewildered expression, Detective Kim adds, “We already checked everywhere we could think of, Jaemin. It’s late, and we’ve been awake for over sixteen hours. We’re no good if we’re exhausted.”

“So, what? We’re supposed to take a nap? While our friends are who knows where?”

“I don’t like it either, but he’s right,” Yangyang says to Jaemin. “We really can’t do much like this. 

Jaemin gapes at them in surprise. “You can’t be serious. Renjun, do you agree with them?”

Renjun doesn’t reply. His eyes are glossy, as if he hasn’t blinked in a while.

“Oh, great,” Jaemin huffs, sagging against the couch. “Another vision, just what we need.”

“Dude, you need a nap,” Yangyang tells him. “You’re grumpier than usual.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Jaemin hisses, “It just feels like I’m the only one that cares about finding Jeno and Hyuck –”

“Hey, you’re not the only one that wants to find them –”

“– what the hell are we still doing here, any –”

“We can’t just barge out and scream their names up and down the streets!”

“Shut up,” Renjun whispers, back in reality. Yangyang clenches his jaw, and Jaemin purses his lips, but they fall quiet, as he requested. “I don’t know where they are, but I saw something new.”

“What was it?” Detective Kim asks.

“It was weird,” Renjun frowns. “It wasn’t like any of my other visions before. I mean, it doesn’t… fall in line, with the other ones.”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin asks him.

Renjun shrugs, rubbing his neck. “All the visions I’ve had since we came back have been awful, and they’ve all ended in blood. This one didn’t.”

“How did it end, then?” Yangyang prods.

“It didn’t even have anything to do with the circus,” Renjun continues, laughing quietly, as if he didn’t hear Yangyang speak at all. “I was at the beach. You were there, Yangyang. I didn’t see much, but it felt so real and… and it felt good. I wasn’t scared, for once.”

Yangyang almost smiles. He could use a possible future in which they aren’t running for their lives.

Something rattles the trash cans outside. Detective Kim perks up at the noise, peering at the double glass doors leading to the small backyard. It’s too dark to see anything, but the hairs on the back of Yangyang’s neck stand on end either way.

“What was that?” Jaemin whispers.

Detective Kim indicates for him to shush, standing up. He reaches for the gun strapped to his waist, pulling off the safe, and takes careful steps toward the doors. Detective Suh returns from his bedroom, hair damp, eyes wide and alert, dressed in sweatpants and an old t-shirt.

“It might have been a raccoon,” Yangyang suggests feebly.

Detective Suh shoots the idea down. “Too loud to be a raccoon,” he says, grabbing his gun, too.

“Stay with the kids,” Detective Kim says to his partner, unlocking the doors.

Yangyang waits with bated breath as the detective exits the house. Detective Suh takes up guard by the doors, gun ready. Yangyang doesn’t dare move from his seat, but he wishes he was sitting on the couch with the other two. He feels exposed, sitting here by himself.

Minutes pass. Detective Suh doesn’t move an inch – no one does, in fact. Yangyang hears his heart beating in his ears. Renjun shifts in his seat, and the crease of the leather cushions is unbearably loud in the silence of the house.

After what feels like an eternity, Detective Kim returns. Other than a splatter of mud on the cuffs of his jeans, there’s nothing new about him. Yangyang allows himself to relax, heaving a sigh of relief.

“I circled the house,” he tells them, “and nothing. I didn’t see anyone or anything.”

“The trash cans?” his partner asks.

“Knocked over, the trash’s all over the place. I’m not cleaning it up,” he adds pointedly.

As the detective gears up to retort, the doorbell rings. Yangyang tenses again, as do Jaemin and Renjun. 

The detectives share a look before Detective Suh takes off toward the front door, and his partner stays in the living room. Yangyang does move this time, clambering on the couch with his friends. It’s a small ounce of calm, but he feels better with Renjun’s arm pressed against his.

They hear Detective Suh unlock the door, open it, and then silence. Yangyang doesn’t think any of them are breathing as they wait for the detective to return.

Detective Suh is holding a piece of paper when he comes back. He doesn’t say a word as he hands it to his partner, looking grim, and Detective Kim doesn’t seem very happy after reading whatever’s written on it, either.

“What is it?” Renjun asks in a whisper.

The detectives share a look full of meaning. 

“We’re not sure,” Detective Suh says. “You might have a better shot at understanding what it says.”

Yangyang takes the offered piece of paper. It looks like it was torn out of a notebook, and it’s dirty – stained with greasy fingerprints, mostly, and spilled ink. A single sentence is written on it in sloppy handwriting, almost too difficult to read.

“Play with fire,” Jaemin reads aloud, his voice belying his incredulity. “Play with fire?”

“You know,” Renjun muses, “Usually, if the bad guy’s going to send a threatening note in the middle of the night, he’ll warn not to play with fire, not encourage you.”

“So, it wasn’t a bad guy,” Yangyang says. “Maybe someone that knows what we’re doing?”

Jaemin snorts. “Not even we know what we’re doing.”

“And, what?” Detective Kim asks, reclaiming his seat. “They want us to keep digging?”

“Maybe they know about the circus, or they fell victim to it,” his partner suggests.

“Yeah,” Yangyang mutters. “Maybe.”

There’s something itching at the back of his mind. Yangyang can’t put his finger on it, though, and it bugs him. 

“If they wanted to send a message, or to encourage us to keep going,” Renjun says, grimacing, “Why would they stalk around the house? Why not slip it under the door or something?”

“They could like being creepy,” Jaemin says.

Detective Suh nods. “Okay, well, whatever it is… we can’t do anything right now. Come on, go shower, you can borrow Jeno’s clothes.”

“What?” Renjun asks.

“You’re sleeping here,” the detective informs them. “I don’t plan on letting any of you out of my sight until we’re done with this. You can sleep in Jeno’s room, I think his bed is large enough.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Detective Kim says. “And first watch.”

“We can’t just go to sleep,” Jaemin sputters.

“Uh, yes, you can, and you will.” Detective Suh shoos them away, dragging them off the couch and pushing them toward Jeno’s room. “Go. You’re useless if you’re tired.”

“You sound just like Doyoung,” Jaemin murmurs.

“Must be the countless hours we spend together.”

Yangyang doesn’t protest much. He isn’t happy about sleeping while Jeno and Donghyuck are missing, especially when chances are they’re back in the circus, but the detectives are right about one thing: they haven’t slept in a while, and they won’t be very useful if their eyes are slipping shut every other minute.

Renjun opens the drawer and pulls out a shirt. “Why does it all look straight from Mark’s closet?”

Yangyang peers in. There are a lot of muscle tees, graphic t-shirts, sweatshirts – they all look like the clothes Mark wears. “They must be his. Jeno said his last foster parents got rid of his things, right? Mark probably sent his clothes for him to wear while he settles in.”

Renjun shakes his head. Yangyang can guess what he’s thinking – Jeno doesn’t have anything that’s his, not anymore. Yangyang can relate to that, in a way; Kun bought him a few changes of clothes, and Detective Suh recuperated some of his things from his parent’s house, but most of the things in Yangyang’s current room at Han Dong’s are borrowed or new.

“I don’t think I can actually sleep,” Jaemin says. He’s nearly pouting.

“Me, neither,” Renjun sighs. “But we can at least rest, try to clear our heads.”

Yangyang hums, nodding. “I call first dibs on the shower.”

* * *

“Well, this is an awfully familiar situation,” Donghyuck states.

Jeno agrees with him silently. Donghyuck leans his head back, knocking against Jeno’s in the process, and they both groan in pain.

“Please, don’t do that,” Jeno pleads. “My head hurts enough as it is. I think that asshole banged it into something while bringing us here.”

“Tell me about it,” Donghyuck grumbles. “I feel like my brain’s turned liquid.”

“Why did he even leave us alive, anyway? Why didn’t he just kill us?”

“Isn’t it obvious? We’re bait.”

Jeno frowns. 

“That’s right.” It’s the ringmaster. Jeno could recognise that voice anywhere.

Jeno can’t see Taeyong’s face very well from this angle, but he can see his boots and the bottom of his red pants.

“You know,” Taeyong says, almost conversationally, as he crouches by their side, “for someone who came up with an escape plan and could keep it hidden from me for so long… You two sure are stupid.”

“Fuck you,” Donghyuck spits.

“I mean,” Taeyong continues as if Donghyuck didn’t speak, “To come back to the circus? Twice, in your case, Jeno?”

Taeyong laughs, as if he finds the situation genuinely funny. 

“If you didn’t want us to come back, then maybe you should’ve sent us farther away,” Jeno grumbles.

“No, you have your little boyfriend here to thank for that,” Taeyong tells him.

“Who the fuck are you calling little?”

“After he hit Sicheng over the head – kudos, by the way, that was a nice hit – Sicheng couldn’t perform as he usually did.” Taeyong sighs, and Jeno almost believes that he’s sorrowful. “Because of you, I had to get rid of one of my best performers.”

“You killed him?” Donghyuck asks.

“Don’t sound so surprised – you tried to kill him first, remember? I just finished your job.”

In spite of everything, Jeno can’t help but to feel bad about it. It doesn’t make any sense, Jeno thinks, but he does feel bad at the implication that Sicheng is dead because of them. After all, Sicheng wasn’t any better than the others; he fed from them on multiple occasions, he bossed them around to do his dirty job for him, and he didn’t particularly care for them. 

He probably feels bad because, at some point, Sicheng was human, just like them. Jeno prefers to think that way, at least.

“And it didn’t end there,” Taeyong says, shifting closer to Donghyuck. “I even had to kill that gossipy bitch at the nursing home.”

Donghyuck’s back goes rigid.

“Her brother did serve us for years, you know? Good kid, really useful.”

“But you still killed him,” Jeno says.

“Of course I did,” Taeyong replies, sounding incredulous. “We can’t keep them around for too long, it’s not as if meals are tasteful after ten or twenty years.”

Jeno bites his tongue to keep himself from saying something that could have him and Donghyuck killed.

Taeyong stands up and begins to circle them. It’s only when he walks in front of Jeno that he sees the glint of a knife in Taeyong’s hand. He’s playing with it, twirling the blade between his fingers as he stalks them.

“It’s a pity,” Taeyong tells them. “About Mrs. Yoon, little Soori. Sanha was really fond of his little sister, and she had great potential. The only reason we didn’t take her was because she was too little for our taste.”

The wording has a shiver run down Jeno’s spine. He knows they don’t go that far, and he’s seen what happens when someone tries to get touchy, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t creep him out.

“We would’ve come back for her, but we never touch the same town twice.” Taeyong pauses. Jeno can’t see him, so he must be standing in front of Donghyuck. “Usually.”

“Then why did you come back to Vrais?” Donghyuck asks him.

When Taeyong doesn’t reply right away, Jeno thinks he won’t do it at all. After all, it doesn’t seem like the type of information he might want them to have.

But sometimes people can surprise you.

“Vrais… is special,” Taeyong says. “I don’t know what it is about this place, but it’s like a beacon for the supernatural. We can go months, or years, visiting towns all over, and not find a single kid with abilities to take. But the second we come back to Vrais, it’s like an all you can eat buffet.”

“That’s disgusting,” Donghyuck snaps. 

“Maybe for you, it is. But you don’t know what it’s like.”

“You’re right,” Jeno says through gritted teeth. “We don’t know what it’s like to be a monster.”

Taeyong laughs, though it lacks humour. He circles them again until he towers over Jeno, and this time the knife is more than a toy – Taeyong presses the tip to Jeno’s chin, lifting his head so Jeno will look him in the eyes.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like? Hmm? There is no food in the world that can satisfy, let alone nurture us.”

“That sounds like a you problem to me,” Jeno mutters.

Taeyong smiles thinly. He presses the knife closer to Jeno’s neck, until a drop of blood trickles out. 

“You might want to watch your tone,” Taeyong warns him.

“Bite me.”

“Been there, done that.”

Jeno holds eye contact as long as he can, but he has to look away eventually. Taeyong grins in triumph and rises from his position, pocketing the knife.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Taeyong says, disappearing from Jeno’s line of sight, “I have a show to run. I’ll see you two birdies tonight.”

Once he’s gone, Donghyuck says, “I hate him. I hate him so much.” Jeno hears the tremor in his voice.

“Me too,” Jeno replies. “Now what?”

“Now,” Donghyuck murmurs, “We get out of here. We try to find the kids.”

“How?”

The question has barely left his lips when he feels Donghyuck start to shimmy his arms. Jeno frowns and tries to glance over his shoulder, but he can’t see anything, not more than the edge of Donghyuck’s jean jacket.

“What are you doing?” he asks. 

Donghyuck huffs out a laugh. “You’re not the only one with tricks up his sleeve, babe.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Okay, look, remember how I can sew? I did their costumes sometimes, all that?”

Jeno isn’t following, but he nods either way. “Yes.”

“Well,” Donghyuck says, his arms still struggling behind his back, “I figured we would be coming here again, and I thought it would be best if I took some precautions.”

“What kind of precautions?” Jeno asks.

“I didn’t just choose this jacket because I look good in it,” Donghyuck snorts. “I added a secret pocket in one of the sleeves.”

“And what did you put in the secret pocket?”

“A Swiss blade.”

Jeno can’t help it – he laughs at the ridiculousness of the situation. Donghyuck sewed a secret pocket into his jacket sleeve to hide a Swiss blade on the off chance they were recaptured by their kidnappers.

“What are you laughing at?” Donghyuck demands, although it comes out as more of a whine.

“This is absurd,” Jeno tells him between giggles. “My entire life is absurd.”

Donghyuck groans, shoulders straining against the ropes. “Please, don’t go losing your mind on me. I need you sane until we can get out of here.”

“I’m not going crazy. I actually think that ship has sailed a long time ago.” He isn’t lying. Jeno does think that if any of them were to end up a drooling mess at an asylum, it would have happened already.

Donghyuck’s shoulder blades – or that’s what Jeno thinks they are – dig into Jeno’s back. “Just a little more,” he grunts, “I almost – got it!”

Something sharp grazes the back of Jeno’s hand, and he hisses at Donghyuck to be more careful with that thing. 

“Relax,” Donghyuck says. “I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you? Because that’s the third time you almost knick me with that stupid knife.”

“It’s not stupid! And it’s going to get us out of here, so you might want to apologize.”

Jeno sighs. “I’m sorry. Please, untie us.”

“I’m working on it,” Donghyuck mumbles back. “It’s kinda hard to – to maneuver the knife in close quarters.”

“Want me to try?”

“No, no, I got it.”

Jeno waits. The tip of the blade stabs the side of his hand, but he doesn’t complain. Donghyuck hacks at the rope with the knife, groaning with the effort, or maybe the awkward angle, but eventually Jeno feels its hold begin to loose.

“It’s working,” he tells Donghyuck.

While Donghyuck doesn’t reply, Jeno can almost feel his excitement – which is impossible, because Donghyuck doesn’t utter a word, his pace remains the same, but Jeno can still tell. 

“Just a few more seconds and we’re out of these,” Donghyuck says.

Jeno can’t wait.

The ropes fall from their wrists in a matter of seconds, just as Donghyuck had said. Jeno brings his arms to his front, groaning as the muscles protest – his arms will be sore for a while, he’s sure. 

“Where do we go now?” Donghyuck asks. 

Jeno turns around, as does Donghyuck. Other than some grime on their faces and a few cuts, plus the bruises on their wrists from the ropes, they’re unharmed. They’re lucky – God knows they should be dead by now.

“We could try getting out of here,” Jeno suggests. “Judging by what little sunlight’s out there, it’s early morning, no?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It means there probably aren’t any clients outside, only the performers.” Jeno sighs, rubbing the reddened skin above his hands. “We should lay low, at least until they open the circus. Once the park’s filling up with people, we make a run for it.”

“Until then?” Donghyuck questions. “Are we supposed to just stay here?”

“No. We do what you said earlier – we find Chenle and Jisung. And, for the love of God, we stay out of trouble.”

Donghyuck grins, though it isn’t a happy smile. “Trouble seems to find us, not the other way around.”

Jeno stands up from the ground and pats his jeans. Donghyuck follows his lead, and then moves toward the tent’s entrance.

“There’s no one out there,” Donghyuck says. “Should we make a run for it?”

It isn’t the best idea, if Jeno is honest. They don’t know if there’s no one truly around – they could be hiding, for all they know, waiting to see if they’re going to try to run or not. Even if they aren’t waiting outside, there are too many of them, and Jeno and Donghyuck are only two people. The odds aren’t exactly stacked to their favour.

“Jen?” Donghyuck calls softly, breaking Jeno out of his reverie. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I think I’m just paranoid,” Jeno laughs softly. “We should go.”

They exit the tent, looking at both sides before walking. Donghyuck was right: there really is no one outside the tent, or near it. The staff area is completely silent, deserted. Overhead, the first of the morning light barely illuminates the sky.

“Alright,” Jeno whispers, “The exit is over there, to the left, but the fence is to the right.”

“And none is very close,” Donghyuck adds. “We’re gonna be exposed within seconds.”

“I say we go for the fence,” Jeno says. “It’s closer, kinda. We can climb it, or find a hole to crawl through.”

“You think we’ll know which way to run?”

“Only one way to find out.”

They move for the right, bypassing several tents, all of which are empty. The more they pass undetected, the more wary Jeno grows. They stick close to each other, nearly tripping one over the other multiple times, until the fence is within their line of vision.

“Wait, stop, Jeno,” Donghyuck hisses urgently at him.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Instead of replying, Donghyuck points toward a tent they just walked past. Or, rather, he points into the tent. They backtrack until they can peer inside, where someone is lying on a cot. 

They’re bandaged head to toe, save for their face and a few inches of skin here and there. There’s a jar of water on the ground next to the cot, as well as a pile of used bandages, dirtied with blood and something else.

Despite Jeno’s hushed warnings not to, Donghyuck steps inside the tent. 

“Jungwoo?” Donghyuck whispers. The person on the cot jerks, as if they’ve heard a ghost. “Jungwoo, is that you?”

A memory comes rushing back to Jeno, so strong it nearly knocks him off his feet. 

“Oh, shit,” Jeno blurts out. “Jungwoo. Fuck.”

“So eloquent,” Donghyuck teases him, but it falls flat. 

Jungwoo tries to speak, but it’s useless, and tears of frustration roll down his cheeks. 

“Don’t, hey, don’t,” Donghyuck soothes him, kneeling next to his cot. “Don’t try to speak, okay? We’ll get you out of here.”

Jeno frowns, checking through the gaps in the tent that they’re still alone. “Hyuck, how? I don’t think he can move.”

Jungwoo nods, gurgling something. 

“I think he can,” Donghyuck retorts. “Come on, we can help him. We can’t just leave him here,” he adds firmly.

Jeno sighs, partly annoyed, but mostly resigned. He won’t be changing Donghyuck’s mind anytime soon. 

“Alright, fine. Look, Jungwoo, this is gonna hurt, but we have to do it.” Jungwoo doesn’t reply, as expected, but he blinks repeatedly to show he understands. “Hyuck, take that side, I’ll take this.”

Jeno has no idea how they’ll even drag Jungwoo out of this tent, much less how they’ll get him out of the circus’s territory. But they can try.

* * *

At breakfast, Renjun sips on a mug of black coffee while staring off into nothingness. His head swims with worry and lack of sleep, turning the world around him into a confusing mess of colours and noise.

Jaemin is cooking breakfast for everyone at the stove, an old apron he dug from the bottom of a closet tied neatly around his waist. Yangyang putters around him, complaining to himself about the lack of coffee mugs. 

“We’re going to the station,” Detective Suh announces, stepping into the kitchen slash dining area. His tie is still loose around his neck and he looks like he couldn’t have had more than a few minutes of sleep during the night. “Maybe we can convince the DA to get us a search warrant for the circus.”

“Why do you need one?” Yangyang asks. “And where the hell are the cups?”

“Bottom cabinet, under the sink – there are shelves under it – yeah, there.” Detective Suh takes an apple from the fruit bowl on the table. “And we need a search warrant, otherwise we have no way of accessing the staff quarters.”

“You have guns – I’m sure you can figure it out,” Jaemin says.

Detective Kim, entering the kitchen, chortles a short laugh at Jaemin’s suggestion. “Guns won’t do us any good, and besides, you don’t want us barging in there like that.”

“Why not?” Jaemin asks incredulously.

“Because,” Detective Suh sighs, “If we do, then whatever we find there will be inadmissible in court, and we can’t risk that.”

Renjun holds back a laugh of his own. “What makes you so confident you’ll get them to court?”

“It’s not as if they aren’t supernaturally powerful and could get away from anything you throw at them,” Yangyang mutters.

“We know the chances of getting justice – legal justice – are minimal,” Detective Kim tells them. “But it’s worth a shot.”

“We’ll be back soon,” Detective Suh reassures them, taking a bite out of his apple. “Once we’re done at the station, we’ll probably go to the circus, look for the kids.”

“And if you can’t get the search warrant?” Jaemin asks softly. “What are you gonna do?”

The detectives share a look. The kitchen lapses into silence, interrupted only by the sizzling of the pan and the beeping of the coffee machine. Renjun glances between the two men and he doesn’t like what he sees – there’s a helplessness in their eyes that betrays any lies they could come up with on the spot.

“We’ll get them back,” is all Detective Suh says. “Eat, please, all three of you. Keep an eye on your phones and the other on the windows – do not open the door to anyone other than us or Mark, you understand me?”

“Yes,” they mutter in unison.

“If you need anything, or if you’re worried or, or, scared, call me, or Doyoung.”

“We’ll be okay,” Yangyang assures him, putting on a brave smile. “I already drew the curtains on all the windows.”

“We left a gun on Johnny’s bedside drawer,” Detective Kim informs them. “I know you kids probably don’t know how to shoot one, but it’s just in case.”

Renjun frowns into his coffee. “Do you really think we’ll need it?” he asks. He hates how small his voice comes out.

Detective Kim heaves a sigh. His hand lands on Renjun’s shoulder to deliver a comforting squeeze. “I sincerely hope you never have to fire a gun.”

“Come on,” Detective Suh says, dumping the apple’s core on the trash can. “Let’s get this done and over with, I don’t want to leave them alone for too long.”

Yangyang walks them to the front door, though it isn’t out of politeness – he makes sure they get into their car alright, waits until they’ve driven out of the street, and then deadbolts the door.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Jaemin says, grinning, faux cheeriness in his voice and his face. “I’m not the best cook but I do make some excellent eggs, and I made toast.”

“Thanks,” Renjun mumbles. He doesn’t feel hungry at all, his stomach a gaping hole of dread and fear, but he knows Jaemin prepared them breakfast in an attempt to make them feel better, and he isn’t about to reject it. “It smells great, Jaem.”

Jaemin’s grin turns more genuine at the compliment. “I like to add cheese to my eggs, but I made yours simple in case you didn’t like it. The cheese’s over here, though, if you want.”

Renjun eats with as much gusto as he can muster. Yangyang eats, and he doesn’t seem to be faking any of it, groaning at the taste, and it clearly makes Jaemin very happy to see them enjoy his food.

“Do any of you know what we’re supposed to do now?” Yangyang asks. 

The living room in Detective Suh’s home has become a sort of second home to Renjun in the past week and a half. He’s slept on this couch, short naps that did nothing much for him, often surrounded by the other boys, always in varying states of exhaustion. He’s eaten greasy take-out and drank far too many energy drinks courtesy of Detective Suh’s credit card. 

Renjun’s shed many tears in this room, more than once. When the going gets tough and his nightmares creep up on him, he’s come here, and he’s found peace. Either Jeno will be here, or Mark, or any of the others. 

In a way, it isn’t the room itself that’s become his home, but the boys in it.

“I think we should stay put, as they said,” Renjun shrugs, playing with a loose strand on his shirt – Jeno’s shirt, previously Mark’s, whatever. “It’s the safest option right now.”

“I don’t like it,” Jaemin grumbles. “I hate that they’re out there and we’re here. We should have never let them go on their own.”

“It’s too late for regrets now,” Renjun tells them. 

Except he’s lying. Renjun hasn’t stopped berating himself for letting them go from the second Jeno and Donghyuck exited Detective Suh’s house yesterday afternoon, and it’s only worsened since they realised they weren’t coming back anytime soon.

Renjun feels guilty – he gave them the green light. He didn’t foresee their disappearance, not a smidge of this timeline. And he knows that if he had seen it, it would have changed, because that’s how the future works, and he has to stop this line of thought before it sends him down a rabbit hole.

“We should,” Renjun stammers, rubs his neck, “We should come up with a plan, or even just a sketch of a plan. Just in case.”

“What kind of plan?” Jaemin’s voice is solemn.

“If the detectives can’t get a warrant, then we’re gonna have to get them back on our own.”

Yangyang falls back on the couch and throws an arm over his face, groaning. “How did we even get here?”

“I have no idea,” Jaemin says. “A year ago, I was… I dreaded coming back here. I only came because my mom promised she’d take time off work to spend with me.”

“I was in a relationship a year ago,” Renjun murmurs, ignoring their surprised glances at his face. “Today, I don’t even remember him well. I remember so many things, except for him.”

Yangyang wiggles up until the crown of his head bumps into Renjun’s thigh. “That sucks. What’s his name?”

“Wong Yukhei. Apparently, we were best friends, as far as my parents knew. He’s supposed to be coming to town soon to see me, but…”

“You don’t know if you want to see him?” Jaemin finishes for him.

Renjun doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling, either. Neither Jaemin nor Yangyang push the subject anymore. Finally, it’s Jaemin who speaks again, bringing their attention back to the original – and more pressing – subject at hand.

“Today’s their last day in town,” he says. “It’s still early, not even seven yet. We have a little over twelve hours before they do whatever it is that they have planned.”

“I’ve seen a lot of flyers around town advertising tonight’s show,” Yangyang adds. “And everyone seems to be going. I don’t know how but it feels like the entire town will be there.”

“Which is what they want,” Renjun finishes. “They want everyone within their reach. What for?”

None of them has an answer. Not that there is any time for them to speak, because at that moment they hear the sound of a car engine pull up outside the house, followed by two pairs of footsteps approaching the door. 

Renjun tenses in anticipation. He knows it’s probably the detectives returning from the station, but it only edges him further – they were gone for less than an hour. It’s very unlikely they got what they wanted.

“Do you think that’s them?” Yangyang whispers.

“I hope it’s them.”

They hear the jingling of a keychain, followed by the locks on the door sliding out of place. Even that doesn’t serve to make Renjun feel better, knowing anyone could have taken the keys from them.

It’s only when they hear Detective Suh’s characteristic stomping that Renjun allows himself to relax. 

“What happened?” Jaemin asks, rushing to meet them. 

Detective Suh grumbles, dropping his jacket on the ground. His expression is stormy, troubled.

“We didn’t get a search warrant,” Detective Kim announces. “But that isn’t our biggest problem right now.”

Renjun is almost too scared to ask. “What is, then?”

“I don’t know what they did,” Detective Suh says, “But they got to the cops.”

Renjun’s chest goes cold. 

“What do you mean?”

“We talked to the DA,” Detective Kim explains, pacing the room. “We asked her to speak to one of the judges in town, to get us the search warrant – she said we had no probable cause, even though we have your testimonies.”

“Our testimonies?” Jaemin echoes. “We didn’t say anything about the circus when we went to the station.”

“No, but you told us that they kidnapped you,” Detective Suh says. “Even if it didn’t take place in an interrogation room, we’re still officers of the law. It would uphold in a courtroom and she knows it.”

“But she said no,” Renjun murmurs. 

“Not just her. Our supervisors, the chief of police, even the judge at the station – they all refuse to go after the circus.”

“Shit,” Jaemin curses. “How the hell did they even pull that off?”

“Does it really surprise you?” Yangyang asks, uttering a short laugh. “I’m more surprised that we didn’t see this coming from miles away.”

“What are we supposed to do now?” Renjun feels like this is the only question any of them have asked in the past two weeks: what are they supposed to do?

“We still go in there,” Detective Suh says decidedly. “I don’t care what they said, I’m not letting those bastards get away with this.”

“We would have no backup,” his partner says. He doesn’t sound as if he’s arguing the idea of going to the circus, but rather like he’s reminding him of the dangers. “We can’t bring anyone else in, just us.”

“I have a gun.”

“And they have superpowers. They’re going to crush you the second they see you.”

“Let them try.”

Renjun frowns. “We’re coming with you, right?”

The detectives remain silent. Jaemin shakes his head, alarmed and at the edge of anger.

“No. We’re coming with you, I don’t care.”

“Jaemin,” Detective Kim begins to say, but Jaemin won’t listen.

“No! We already made the mistake of letting two of us go on their own and look where it took us – from now on, we do this together. We’re all going there, and that’s it.”

“You can’t make that sort of decision by yourself,” Detective Suh says.

“Yes, I can, and I just did.”

Renjun agrees. He isn’t letting any of them go on their own, not again.

* * *

Donghyuck didn’t think things through when he insisted they carried Jungwoo out of the circus.

They pant, crouching behind a stack of crates and a tent, as some of the guys from the clean-up crew walk right past them. Jungwoo hasn’t made a sound since they smuggled him out of the tent they had him in, maybe because he’s too tired to say anything, or maybe because he’s passed out.

“Where to now?” Donghyuck whispers.

Jeno peers over the edge of the boxes for a second before ducking once more, shaking his head. “The fence is up ahead. We could make a run for it, but…”

They would need to climb the fence – Jungwoo can’t climb the fence. He can barely move, and that’s only with the combined effort of Jeno and Donghyuck carrying most of his weight.

“Do you think you could cut a hole in the fence with your knife?” Jeno asks him.

Donghyuck weighs his options. Theoretically speaking, yes, he could carve a hole in the fence with his knife, perhaps even one large enough to fit a grown man – or three. They could even find a way to pass Jungwoo through the aforementioned hole, provided the pain isn’t too great and they can support him the whole way.

All of that is possible, provided they can find a space where they can hide. Donghyuck won’t fool himself into thinking he can cut the hole fast enough to avoid detection, especially with how many people there are in the near vicinity. 

“I can try,” Donghyuck decides, “But I’m gonna need your help.”

“Anything,” Jeno nods.

“Take Jungwoo and hide – somewhere you can see me, but not too close. I’m gonna need time to get it done and I don’t wanna risk either of you getting caught.”

“What if someone sees you?” Jeno asks.

Donghyuck purses his lips. “If they see me, you stay hidden, or you run if you have to. Once I’m done, you’ll go first, then Jungwoo, then me.”

“I don’t like this plan,” Jeno says.

“It’s a good plan,” Donghyuck retorts, defensive. He knows it isn’t fool-proof but it gives them a chance to escape.

“I don’t like that you’re gonna be alone out there, and I don’t like that you think I’ll actually leave you behind.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply. He doesn’t like the idea of Jeno and Jungwoo leaving, either, but this way at least they can get away without the circus trapping them again. 

“If you have to run, you run. That’s it.”

Donghyuck makes sure he leaves no room for argument before taking off in the direction of the fence, careful not to let anyone spot him. He trots along the length of the fence until he finds a section that’s a little more secluded than the rest of it, and doesn’t waste any time before he gets to work.

It’s harder than it looks or sounds, Donghyuck realises, to cut a hole into a fence. It isn’t electric, thank goodness, and the material isn’t too strong, but it isn’t an easy task, nonetheless.

Sweat gathers on his forehead and his back as he works. The base of the blade slips from his grasp several times thanks to his clammy fingers, and his arm begins to cramp not too long after from repeating the same motion over and over.

Overhead, the sun makes a slow ascent to the sky. It’s nearing high morning, maybe close to nine o’clock – briefly, he wonders what the rest are doing. Maybe they’re at their homes, with their parents. 

It’s more likely that they’re with Johnny, or looking for them. Donghyuck hopes they’re safe, at the very least. 

“Fuck,” Donghyuck curses under his breath. The knife had slipped and he’d cut his finger, the blood pooling momentarily before it flowed down his hand and over his wrist. His hands are bleeding a little too much for Donghyuck’s taste.

He’s almost done with the fence. The hole is tall enough to fit them, even if Jungwoo will have to crouch – and Donghyuck dreads that moment, can’t imagine how much pain Jungwoo will feel – but it isn’t wide enough, not yet.

“Just a little more,” he murmurs to himself, sticking his tongue out from the corner of his mouth.

A sound catches his attention and he freezes. It might be nothing, or it might be something. Donghyuck strains his ears, but he doesn’t hear anything again – no approaching footsteps, no crunching of leaves, no voices, nothing. 

He goes back to work. The criss-crossed wires break in half with every swipe of his knife, and he thinks it’s due to having grown used to the motion. The fence gives way, and soon enough he’s standing in front of a hole sizable enough to fit any of the three of them, no problem.

Donghyuck admires his handiwork for a short second before he turns on his heels and whistles softly, imitating a bird to the best of his abilities.

Jeno pokes his head out from wherever they were hiding, and then he lugs Jungwoo across the field – Donghyuck can read on his face the myriad of apologies he offers each time he presses on one of his wounds.

“Nice work,” Jeno praises him. “I thought it would take longer.”

“You and me both. Go on, you go first,” Donghyuck says, taking Jungwoo’s mangled form from Jeno’s arms. “I’ll pass him to you, and then I’ll follow.”

Jeno hesitates. He won’t even be a meter away from them, but Donghyuck understands why he vacillates – it feels as if there is a vast void between them and the outside.

It’s only after Donghyuck raises his eyebrows in expectation that Jeno ducks through the hole, stepping out of the circus’s territory. He turns around immediately, arms open, and motions for Jungwoo to go ahead.

“We’re almost out of here,” Donghyuck whispers to Jungwoo, helping him step through. “Just a little more, I promise.”

Jungwoo gurgles something in response. His injuries, while painful, aren’t as bad as Donghyuck remembers from the last time he saw him, and it doesn’t explain why he can’t speak – he’d shouted when it happened to him. Donghyuck doesn’t remember him harming his throat.

“I got him,” Jeno says. “Now you. Come on.”

Donghyuck doesn’t need to hear that twice. He jumps through, accidentally nicking his side on a cut wire, and he feels like he breaths for the first time in days when his shoes touch the soft grass outside the circus.

“Let’s go,” Jeno urges, winding an arm through Jungwoo’s arm to hold his weight. “We should be able to find the road from here.”

“We can’t go to the front,” Donghyuck says, grunting as Jungwoo’s partly deadweight knocks him sideways. “They’ll see us. We have to find a way through the trees.”

Jungwoo groans, trying to say something, and Donghyuck can feel his frustration as he fails to speak.

“What is it?” Jeno asks. Jungwoo’s eyes beneath the bandages are wild with determination. “Do you have a plan?”

Jungwoo nods, then pointedly darts his eyes to the trees. 

“The trees?” Donghyuck asks. “That was the plan.”

Jungwoo shakes his head this time. Donghyuck isn’t sure what he wants them to know, or see, but he figures he’ll get it when they actually reach the treeline. 

He does. They’ve entered the foliage, taken perhaps five steps, when Jungwoo makes another sound to capture their attention.

“What?” Donghyuck pants.

Jungwoo glances to the side. And there, lo and behold, is a hiking path. It’s hard to find, covered in moss and leaves, but it’s there, and it seems to lead to a different area of the park, away from the circus.

“Awesome,” Jeno whispers, grinning. 

They follow the trail for the better part of ten minutes before they reach the other side of the park. It’s secluded, empty, and there isn’t a soul in sight. Most importantly, there is a road up ahead.

“Jungwoo, you are a blessing,” Donghyuck tells him. Jungwoo offers him a small grin in return. “We can’t be too far from town.”

“Do you think we can walk that far?” Jeno asks.

“Maybe.” Donghyuck doesn’t think they can walk a mile, not with Jungwoo slowing them down. However, he does think they can flag down a car, somewhere along the road.

They continue to walk, past a few picnic tables and over dead leaves, with Jungwoo moaning in pain each time they stumble over rocks or one of them presses on a particularly tender wound. Donghyuck’s back is covered in sweat and his arm aches from the strain, but he pushes through.

Five minutes later, as they’re hobbling down the paved road, Donghyuck glimpses a shine of metal in the distance.

“It’s a car,” Donghyuck whispers faintly. 

“Quick, take Jungwoo,” Jeno says, untangling his limbs from Jungwoo’s before stepping into the middle of the road. The car approaches them, oblivious. Jeno raises his arms in the air and shouts, “Hey! Help!”

Donghyuck’s heart hammers in his chest. He can barely hold Jungwoo on his own, and it’s unbearably hot today. Jeno jumps and shouts in an attempt to capture the attention of the driver.

The car suddenly halts, the tires screeching, and the woman screams behind the wheel as she nearly runs him over. The car hits Jeno, but she had already begun to slow down, so he only bounces back and stumbles to the ground. 

“Jeno!” Donghyuck shouts, but he can’t move away. The woman stops screaming, but now she’s speaking frantically into her phone, unbuckling her seatbelt and attempting to unlock her door. “Jen, are you alright?”

“Fine,” Jeno groans, sitting up. His knees are bloodied. It has to hurt, but when the woman rushes to his side, he shakes her off, saying, “No, no, I’m okay, please, just help my friends.”

She looks over at Donghyuck and Jungwoo. Perhaps this is the first time she sees them, or perhaps she didn’t notice their state before, but her face contorts into an expression of horror before she nods, scrambling for her phone again. 

“Ma’am,” Donghyuck says after she’s called an ambulance, “Do you mind if I put my friend in your car?”

“Of course,” she nods, hurrying to help him move Jungwoo to the backseat. “Oh, Lord, what happened?”

“Accident,” is all Donghyuck says. He hears the ambulance sirens in the distance. “He’ll be okay, I think, we just need to get him to a hospital.”

Jeno tries to stand up and approach them, but Donghyuck runs to his side instead, pressuring him to stay on the ground.

“I’m okay,” Jeno protests.

“Stay.”

“Donghyuck…”

“You’re Donghyuck?” 

He looks up at the sound of the woman’s voice. She’s still by Jungwoo’s side, offering him sips of water from her bottle, but her eyes are trained on Donghyuck.

“Yes?”

“Oh,” she says, blinking twice before she recovers her composure. “You went to school with my daughter, Yerim.”

Donghyuck frowns, then a memory comes to mind; Yerim was the girl that worked at the nursing home. “Yerim – oh, yes, I remember her. How is she?”

“Darling, you mustn’t have heard. My daughter died, a few months after you disappeared – she had leukaemia.”

In his shock, Donghyuck can only gape. He tries to offer his condolences, but all that leaves his mouth is a stuttered mangle of words. She smiles thinly, returning her attention to Jungwoo.

The ambulances arrive. The paramedics take Jungwoo first, per their insistence, loading him into the gurney before helping Jeno onto the other one. Donghyuck hesitates when they ask him if he will ride with one of them – he wants to go with Jeno, but Jungwoo needs him right now.

“I’ll go with your friend, Jeno,” the woman says kindly. “You can go with your other friend, um –”

“Jungwoo,” Donghyuck says. 

“Right, Jungwoo. I hit Jeno with my car, so I should go with him. Don’t worry, we’ll see you at the hospital, okay?”

It isn’t that Donghyuck trusts her very much. She’s a stranger, for crying out loud. But the paramedics are growing restless and he doesn’t have time to waste.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck nods. “That’s very kind of you.”

She nods, smiling. Donghyuck climbs into the ambulance with Jungwoo, and the paramedics close the doors right away.

As the ambulance begins to drive away, Jungwoo groans something, an attempt to communicate. The paramedics are working over him, giving him anaesthesia and connecting an IV drop to his veins, though Donghyuck doesn’t know what that’s for.

“What? Jungwoo, what’s wrong?”

Another groan, a gurgle. Donghyuck leans forward, putting his ear close to Jungwoo’s mouth, but he still doesn’t understand anything he’s saying – or that he’s trying to say.

“I think he wants you to hold his hand,” a paramedic says, pointing downward.

Donghyuck looks down and sees Jungwoo’s hand reaching feebly for his, his fingers curling around nothing. Donghyuck takes his hand, holding it gently between his own.

“Oh,” Donghyuck murmurs. “Oh, Jungwoo, I’m so sorry this had to happen.”

“Do you know what happened to him?” a paramedic asks. “You need to tell us everything so we can treat him.”

Donghyuck gulps. “It was a fire. That’s all I know.”

* * *

“This,” Detective Suh says, “is a Colt Detective Special. It's a six shot, double-action revolver, and it's specially manufactured for police officers."

Jaemin nods, as do Renjun and Yangyang. They’ve been sitting here for well over twenty minutes, during which the detectives showed them three different types of guns and ammo, as well as explained the general mechanics of each one. 

“Do you kids have good aim?” Detective Kim asks, loading his Glock 22. 

("It holds 15 rounds in a standard magazine," the detective had explained earlier. "It's a personal favourite, for me and other officers.")

The three look at each other, and then shrug. 

“I think I’m decent,” Jaemin says – he thinks he’s being generous, but they need to stay positive. Even if all else fails, they still have their faith. 

Yangyang nods to show he feels the same. Renjun purses his lips, thinking. “Maybe?” he offers. “I wouldn’t count on it, though.”

The detectives share a look of their own. They do that a lot, Jaemin noticed, whenever they’re thinking something that they know they won’t like to hear. It’s a little annoying, sometimes, but Jaemin doesn’t mention that. 

“We could take them to the shooting range,” Detective Kim suggests weakly.

His partner shakes his head, frowning. “They’ll see us. We can’t risk anyone telling them we’re doing… this, whatever.”

“Then, where? We can’t very well teach them how to shoot a gun in your backyard,” Detective Kim retorts.

Detective Suh sighs. Jaemin chews his bottom lip, nervous about what their decision will be. If the detectives decide against teaching them, their odds of rescuing Donghyuck and Jeno will decrease drastically. As if they aren’t doing just that with every second they stay in this house instead of going to the circus.

“Don’t you have silencers?” Renjun asks all of a sudden. With four pairs of eyes on him, he grows flustered, but he pushes through with his suggestion. “I mean… if we find someplace quiet, we could shoot cans? You know, like they do in movies and stuff.”

“That could be arranged,” Detective Kim tilts his head. “I have silencers in my car, and I think John has one?”

“I do,” he nods.

“Great. That still leaves us with the issue of where, though.”

An idea pops into Jaemin’s head, a metaphorical lightbulb going off in his mind. It isn’t the best of ideas, but it could work.

“What about my place?”

“Excuse me?” Detective Suh asks.

Jaemin shuffles his feet, awkward. “It has a large backyard. It’s private, and I don’t think my parents will be home during the day, since they’re gonna be at the circus for something. I can just send the help home, and we’ll have the whole place to ourselves.”

He sees Yangyang mouth the words _‘the help_ ’ incredulously to Renjun and his face reddens. However, there isn’t time for Jaemin to feel embarrassed, or like a sheltered spoiled brat – perhaps his words, perhaps not – because there are more pressing matters to deal with. Or so he tells himself.

He knows it’s going to bother him for the rest of the day.

“So?” Jaemin prods. 

“Alright,” Detective Kim nods. “Ask your parents if they’re home, and if they are, come up with an excuse to get them out of the house. We’ll find the silencers and meet you in the car.”

Jaemin pulls out his phone and taps at the screen, looking for his mother’s contact. She picks up after the third ring, sounding harried and distracted.

“Hello, darling,” she says, her voice faint – as if her mouth is far from the phone’s microphone. “Is everything alright?”

“Hi, mom, yeah. Everything’s fine. Are you and dad home right now?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, your father is down at the regional office with the lawyers, I’m at the salon. Why? Do you need us to go home?”

“No! Uh, no, I was just curious. Do you… do you know what time you’ll be home, then?”

“Late, probably. We’re going to the circus together, they have some special performance tonight — the whole town’s going to be there.”

“Don’t go,” Jaemin blurts out, and then shuts his eyes as he curses to himself. He shouldn’t have said that. “It’s going to be crowded, right? That mustn’t be very fun.”

“We can’t miss it! It’s an opportunity to create more ties with the community.”

Jaemin rolls his eyes. He has to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her – he loves his mother, but she can be so single-minded sometimes. It’s all about business for her and for his dad.

“Fine. I’ll see you when you get home,” he says, hanging up. To Renjun and Yangyang, he adds, “They won’t be home until later tonight. We can use the backyard.”

Thankfully, neither of them say anything about his outburst, or his obvious bad mood. Renjun leaves to tell the detectives, and then they’re all piling into Detective Kim’s car, driving off to Jaemin’s house.

Jaemin looks out the window the entire car ride. And maybe for the first time in his life, he sees how the scenery changes as they approach his home – the houses become bigger, front lawns cleaner, and then they pass the first gated property, then the second, and the third. There isn’t any need for him to give directions, since Detective Suh already knew where he lived, and he keeps his eyes on the blur of equally white and blue houses the entire time.

A prickle of embarrassment grows from the base of his neck to the tips of his ear when they reach the Na estate; where he has to roll the window down to speak to the guard so he will let them in. Detective Suh parks behind the gardener’s truck, and Jaemin is acutely aware of the glances shared between Renjun and Yangyang.

Jaemin rushes out of the car, taking two steps at a time to the front door where their butler, Mr. Kim, greets him with a curt bow.

“Hi,” Jaemin exhales, bouncing on his heels. “Listen, um, everyone gets the day off, alright? It’s fine, it’s all… dandy. I just need the house.”

Mr. Kim examines his face for a second, and then glances over Jaemin’s shoulder. Jaemin pants a little, due to nerves or maybe from his sprint from the car. 

“Please,” he adds, and it comes out more urgent than he meant. 

The staff leaves ten minutes later. Jaemin stares at his shoes the entire time, not daring to meet eyes with anyone. Renjun’s watching the photos on his mother’s mantel with something akin to interest, and Yangyang’s fascinated with his father’s aquarium in the living room, but the detectives stand behind Jaemin, silently waiting for their cue.

Once they’re gone, the house feels strangely empty. It’s the first time Jaemin notices how, even though his parents were never home, the house always bustled with energy and noise.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

“Um, the garden’s this way,” he mumbles, pointing to the door down the hall. 

They follow him outside, where the morning sun blinds him momentarily, but they find shelter under the shade of a tree. 

“Alright, I’ll set up the cans over there,” Detective Kim says, moving further away. 

“Do you remember what I taught you?” Detective Suh asks them. “The safe, how to load the gun…?”

“Yes,” they chorus. 

“What worries me is our aim,” Yangyang confesses. “What if we all suck?”

Detective Suh purses his lips. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Who wants to go first?”

They take turns shooting the cans. As predicted, they’re all very bad at it the first ten times, hitting pretty much anything but the targets. Jaemin’s arms begin to cramp after a while from holding the same position for too long, and drops of sweat roll down his forehead into his eyes. 

Renjun hits the trees every time, cursing loudly. Yangyang’s bullets fly somewhere into the garden, away from their line of vision. 

“This isn’t working,” Renjun grumbles, letting his arms fall to his sides. “We’re just wasting bullets, and we haven’t hit a single can.”

“Agree,” Detective Suh says. “No guns. Do you know self-defence?”

The next two hours, the detectives teach them basic moves – how to put someone in a chokehold, and to always aim for the throat or the eyes. They correct their stances and teach them to evade direct hits, how to predict their opponent’s next move.

It’s rusty, and only the very basics, but it’s something. Jaemin knocks Yangyang flat on his back twice in a row, and later has to tap out from Renjun’s hold. It’s better than where they were earlier this morning.

They’re interrupted, though, by the ringing of Renjun’s phone. He bends down to retrieve it from the grass and frowns as soon as he sees the caller ID, picking up the call.

“Hey, mom. No, I’m with, uh, Jaemin and Yangyang, why – oh. He’s here? Now? I don’t know… we’re kind of busy, but – yeah, yeah. Okay. Yeah, I’ll see you in a bit. Yeah, you too. Bye.” 

“What happened?” Yangyang asks him.

“My mom’s worried,” Renjun says, pocketing his phone with a huff. “She wants me to come home, now. She said Yukhei’s here, even though he wasn’t supposed to get here until next week. I don’t think I can get out of it,” he adds sheepishly.

“You shouldn’t,” Detective Kim tells him. “Go home. You too, Yangyang – I know Han Dong is worried sick.”

“But we’re–”

“Done here?” the detective interrupts Yangyang’s protests. “Yeah. We’ll see you at five, back at Johnny’s. As much as we need to figure out what we’ll do today, you need to see your parents. They’re probably suspecting something’s up and we know it’s in their best interest to remain as oblivious as possible.”

“How do you expect me to make small talk with them?” Renjun demands. “I can barely look them in the eye anymore, and I can’t think of anything except Hyuck and Jeno.”

“I know that,” Detective Kim says, placating, “But trust me, this is necessary. Go home, see your parents, see your friend, have lunch. Tell them you love them.”

It hits Jaemin, then, what this is about. There are no guarantees that this will end smoothly, or well, for any of them. Detective Kim is making sure they won’t die with any regrets regarding their families.

“Jaemin,” Detective Suh says, “Your parents won’t be home until late, right? You can come with us, or you can stay here, if you would prefer.”

“I’ll come with you,” Jaemin whispers. He doesn’t want to spend his potential last day alive all by himself in a house that’s far too big for a boy his age. 

“We’ll see you at five,” Detective Suh says to the other two boys. “Don’t worry, okay? It will be fine.”

Jaemin wishes he could believe him. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **signs of PTSD, mind control, guns, discussions of violence and murder**

Han Dong’s front yard is a source of pride for her, Yangyang has noticed. He hasn’t spent much time at their house since they took him in, busy with their circumstances, but the few times he has been here, she’s been working on the beds of flowers, the rose bushes, the lilies, the lavender, and a whole bunch of other flowers Yangyang doesn’t recognise and can’t name.

Kun, on the other hand, has a strange fascination for model airplanes. In the living room, between a bookshelf close to overflowing with tome after tome and a bureau with photographs and travel souvenirs, Kun has three shelves of airplanes he had built by himself, along with a few model trains, though the airplanes outnumber those by a landslide.

They have offered, on numerous occasions, to teach Yangyang the ropes. Kun insisted Yangyang could learn to build the planes very quickly, and Han Dong was sure he could water the plants while she tended to the roots and whatnot. Yangyang had rejected all their attempts, quoting every excuse he could come up with on the spot, but he still hopes he can accept their invitation one day.

It’s just– they’ve been so nice to him. Kun makes him breakfast every morning, even after Yangyang fails to show up time and time again, and Han Dong ear-dogs the pages of magazines that contain articles she thinks he could like, and they never call him out on his bullshit when he lies to their faces. He knows that, to some level, it is only because Detective Suh had reassured Kun that Yangyang was with him, but still.

It is with that thought in mind that Yangyang works up the courage to knock on their front door (he lost his keychain three days ago, and he’s sure it’s somewhere in Detective Suh’s place, he just hasn’t found it), rocking on his heels as he waits for them to let him in. 

Kun’s the one to open the door, and his curious expression turns into one of delight when he sees Yangyang standing at the threshold. 

“Yangyang!” Kun exclaims with a smile. “Hey! Come on, come on in. What happened to your key?”

“I lost it,” Yangyang says, rubbing his nape. “I’m sure it will turn up, though! I must have left them at Johnny’s, or Hyuck’s or something.”

Kun shakes his head, still smiling, seemingly amused with Yangyang’s nervous blabbering. He steps aside to allow Yangyang to walk inside the house, waiting for him while he kicks off his shoes. 

Somehow, their house is always toasty warm. Even in summer, it isn’t hot, but there are no uncomfortable drafts of wind or the chill of an air conditioner – it’s the perfect temperature, in Yangyang’s opinion. 

“We were just going to sit down for lunch,” Kun says, guiding Yangyang to the dining table. “Will you join us?”

“Yeah,” Yangyang nods. “I’m starving, actually.”

He is. He could barely hold his breakfast in the morning, but Kun’s cooking is too good to pass up, and the smell alone is making his mouth water. Han Dong’s sitting at the table already, serving mashed potatoes on three plates — she either knows he’s here, or she’s hopeful. Yangyang can’t understand why the thought makes him feel so giddy, but it does.

“Hi,” Yangyang waves, shy. 

Han Dong breaks out in a smile, nearly dropping the wooden spoon on the table. “Yangyang! Oh, it’s so good to see you! Here, come sit, we made potatoes and roast beef.”

“Smells great,” Yangyang says, taking a seat next to her. Kun sits across from them, sliding a tiny bowl of sauce closer to Yangyang’s side.

Yangyang blanks. Han Dong is chattering away about a customer who came into her store last evening, with Kun adding his own input wherever he sees fit, laughing together, asking Yangyang about his day and his friends, and he can barely stammer a reply before stuffing his face with food.

If either of them finds his behaviour odd, they don’t say anything. They simply go on with their lunch, eating and talking, making sure Yangyang feels included every second of it. Like how Yangyang thinks a family does.

It makes lying to them that much harder.

“Where have you been off to?” Han Dong asks him, casual if it weren’t for the look she shares with Kun. “I feel like we haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Oh, uh, you know, just… I’ve been with the guys,” Yangyang says lamely. “It’s easier, with them.”

Kun butters a piece of bread, offering it to Yangyang, before he repeats the motion twice more. “How are they doing? I ran into Jaemin the other day, at the grocery – he looks healthier than he did when you kids were at the hospital.”

“Yeah, we’re doing better, I guess,” Yangyang shrugs. “Like I said, it’s easier with them. We get what the other’s going through, so we can talk about whatever without feeling like we’re being judged.”

Han Dong and Kun share another glance. Usually, Yangyang thinks it’s cute, how they can read each other’s minds with a simple look, but this time it only makes him nervous, fidgety. 

“Speaking of,” Kun says, clearing his throat, “We were talking the other day, and we wanted to run something by you.”

“What is it?”

“Well, what you’ve been through,” Kun hesitates, “It’s a lot. We think you might benefit from seeing a therapist.”

“I don’t need a therapist,” Yangyang denies immediately. A little too quickly, maybe, because their eyes meet once more. “Seriously, I don’t. I’m fine.”

“Yangyang,” Han Dong begins gently. “I know you haven’t spent many nights here, but the ones you have, you’ve had nightmares. Night terrors, darling.”

“You were missing for an entire year,” Kun says, far more blunt than his wife. “You have no memories, but there is trauma. You should seek a professional, someone that can help.”

“Help with what?” Yangyang snaps, his hackles rising. 

“With,” Han Dong falters under his glare, “With your trauma, darling. With everything that’s happened to you.”

“I don’t need help. I’m not broken, and I don’t need anyone trying to fix me.”

“That’s not what this is,” Kun tries to say, but Yangyang cuts him off with another glare. Kun’s lips thin out, something like resignation in his eyes. “Alright. Let’s change the subject, yeah? What have you kids been up to?”

“I told you, we hang out,” Yangyang grumbles.

“What do you do, when you hang out?” he presses. 

Yangyang only hesitates for a second. “We watch TV. A lot of TV, actually. And we eat junk food.”

“Johnny seems to be confident in your case,” Han Dong mentions, trying to come off as casual. “He’s been working very hard – I know he’s been talking to you, right? Are your memories coming back?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. Suddenly, the roast beef isn’t as appetising as before. “He’s patient, and he doesn’t mind if we raid his fridge sometimes.”

“John’s always been great with kids,” Kun comments. “He used to want to be a teacher, but he joined the Academy instead – he never told me why, actually,” he hums. Kun shakes his head, grinning. “Regardless, I’m glad he’s a detective. I know he will help you.”

Yangyang nods. That much is true – Detective Suh has done everything in his power to help them, has gone beyond what’s expected of him, and he’s been kind to them. 

“He’s been… understanding,” Yangyang says. “And helpful. I like him – he’s nice.”

Han Dong pushes the bowl of mashed potatoes in Yangyang’s direction. Yangyang isn’t hungry anymore, but he can’t say no to her, so he spoons another serving onto his plate. 

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” Han Dong asks him. “I mean, would you like to finish high school? I have a friend in the school district, she can help set you up for the exams.”

“I don’t know,” Yangyang wrinkles his nose. “I have a feeling I didn’t do very well in school.”

“Doesn’t matter – if you don’t want to attend school, you can be home schooled! Kun’s a professor, he can teach you.”

A knot grows in Yangyang’s throat. “You— you want me to stay?”

That’s what they’re implying, right? If Han Dong is suggesting he’s home schooled, and that Kun could do that, it means she thinks he will stay with them for that long? Yangyang prays that’s what she’s saying, otherwise he will feel very foolish to have thought it in the first place.

“Of course we want you to stay,” Han Dong says earnestly, and Yangyang doesn’t think she knows what those words mean to him. “You’re a good kid, and we like you.”

Just like that. 

Yangyang blinks repeatedly, his eyelashes clumping from unshed tears. “I’d like to stay, too. Thank you.”

Han Dong makes a sound resembling a kicked puppy, throwing her arms around him to squeeze him in a tight hug. She’s half-choking him, her hold too strong around his neck, and— and Yangyang allows himself to hug her back.

“Oh!” she exclaims, pulling back with a smile. “I completely forgot! Kun and I were talking of taking you shopping this afternoon – you’re gonna need new clothes, and shoes, and underwear, and bathroom stuff, and you definitely need a haircut, and maybe later we could go to the circus! It’s their last performance and I hear they have something special planned.”

Yangyang stammers, glancing between the two with wide eyes. Kun’s smile dissipates at his hesitance, replaced with a frown.

“Yangyang?”

“It’s just,” Yangyang says, making sure to squeeze extra guilt in his voice to make sure they believe him, “I already have plans with the guys… we’re going to the movies at five.”

“Ah, that’s alright,” Kun waves him off, picking up his fork again. “We can just meet you at the circus—”

“No! I mean, um, I don’t think I can go.”

Kun’s disappointed. That fact leaves a bad taste in Yangyang’s mouth, but it’s easier to lie than to tell the truth. As if they would ever believe the truth, if he were to tell them.

He isn’t sure where he would begin, or how to get the words out.

“I’m sorry,” Yangyang adds, genuine. “Rain check?”

“Rain check,” Han Dong confirms. “We can go shopping on Sunday, or Monday?”

“Both work for me,” Yangyang says. 

They finish eating their lunch in relative silence. Kun comments on Yangyang’s hair length, playfully mimicking early Justin Bieber’s hair flip, and Han Dong says they should take him to the beach because he’s too pale. Then they move to the living room.

“We usually watch those silly talk shows,” Han Dong says, handing him the remote control. “But feel free to choose whatever you want.”

Yangyang gingerly takes the TV remote control from her hands. He doesn’t know why, but it feels like such a big commitment – choosing what they will watch after lunch, the three sitting shoulder to shoulder on the worn-out couch. He settles for an old movie that none has seen, even though it’s more than halfway through and they have no idea what’s happening.

Later, as the credits roll on the screen and Kun stretches his arms above his head, Yangyang gathers what’s left of his bravery to say something he knows he has to say.

“Tonight,” Yangyang says, stumbling over his words, “Please, don’t go to the circus.”

“Why not, sweetie?” Han Dong asks, distracted with a magazine. 

“Just… trust me. Don’t go. Stay home, close the curtains, lock the doors.”

“Are you alright?” Kun frowns.

“Fine, fine,” Yangyang nods, licking his lips. “Promise me, though, that you won’t go.”

“Why not?” Kun presses.

“I can’t – I can’t explain right now. I will, soon, but for now… I can’t.”

The spouses look at each other over his head before Han Dong nods. “Alright. We won’t go.”

“Is there a problem?” Kun asks.

Yangyang doesn’t reply. He can’t lie to them again. 

* * *

It’s hard to say what it is about this police officer that makes Jeno’s skin crawl.

At first glance, he’s completely normal: average height, average weight, sandy brown hair and brown eyes. His badge is shiny on his chest and his uniform is perfectly in place. He announces his entrance to the nurses tending to Jeno’s injured knees with a polite greeting and asks to speak to him as soon as they’re done, and then he stands in a corner of the room, hands held in front of him, watching them patch him up.

Jeno’s knee jerks when the nurse taps a nerve, and he apologises quietly. They already bandaged his right knee, the white tissue turning reddish with his blood, and the other nurse is applying some sort of spray on his left knee before she bandages that one as well.

“All done here,” the nurse says, righting herself up. “A doctor will be here in a few minutes for a check-up and then he’ll prescribe you something for the pain, alright?”

“Okay, thanks,” Jeno nods. “Um, do you know anything about my friend?”

“Hmm? Oh, your friend – the doctors are still with him, I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

“Thank you,” Jeno says. The nurses exit the semi-private room shortly after that, nodding to the officer as they walk past him. “Uh, you have questions for me, right?”

“Yes. Officer Park Seonghwa, I… we’ve met, in the past.”

Jeno raises an eyebrow. He’s confused for all of two seconds before it dawns on him and he chuckles awkwardly. “Oh. I take it you arrested me, then?”

“Once or twice,” the officer says. “For skipping school, nothing offensive. I need you to walk me through everything that happened that led you to today.”

That’s a long story, Jeno thinks. Certainly not a story he will be sharing today, or to him. Jeno considers his options for a moment, trying to figure out the best lie to feed him – Officer Park doesn’t appear to be the type to fall for anything, so Jeno must make sure there’s enough truth in his lies.

“Hyuck and I went to the circus, yesterday evening,” he says. “We were deciding if we wanted to ride the carousel or go into the haunted house.”

“Hyuck – that’s Lee Donghyuck?”

“Yes.”

“Is he your boyfriend?”

“Wh- why does everyone assume that?” Jeno groans. “No, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, sorry about that. Please, continue.”

Jeno sighs through his nose. “Anyway, we were heading toward the haunted house when a little girl came running to us. She was upset because she couldn’t find her mom, so we offered to help her. Donghyuck asked her where she saw her mom the last time and she said by the big tent, that they were in line for the show.”

“So, you walked her there?” the officer asks.

“Yeah. We walked around for a while, but we didn’t see her mom, so I suggested we look for someone in charge, like a security guard or something.”

“And did you?” 

Jeno nods. “Yes, but we didn’t find anyone, so we headed for the staff quarters. We figured there would be someone there that could help us.”

There, Jeno hesitates. It’s going to be difficult to come up with a proper explanation for the next twelve hours or so. Pretending to be thirsty, Jeno reaches for the water jar on the little tray by his bed and pours himself a glass, gulping it down as he racks his brains for something to say.

“Sorry,” he says, wiping the corner of his mouth with his gown’s sleeve. “I haven’t had much water since yesterday.”

“What happened after you looked for the security guard?” the officer prompts.

It makes Jeno pause. He can’t quite place what it is, but something in the officer’s voice, or maybe something about his face, changes. 

“Um, we went to the staff quarters, and we hung around for a bit until we saw someone.”

“Witnesses claim to have seen you and the other boy running around the circus, close to six in the evening,” Officer Park states. “They say you seemed scared. What were you running from?”

“A guy,” Jeno says simply. “I don’t know his name or anything. He just spooked us.”

“How so?”

“He… he was looking at us funny. Gave me the creeps, actually.”

“Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“There was no one around,” Jeno says through clenched teeth. “Like I said, we couldn’t find anyone.”

“Alright,” the officer says, writing something down on his yellow notepad. Jeno watches him closely, but he can’t pinpoint what has him so on edge. “Then what?”

“Well, we somehow ended up running into the private area, where the staff sleeps. It seemed safer than being out in the open.” It scares Jeno how easy it is for him to lie about that.

“Did you see anyone there?” 

“No,” Jeno shakes his head. “We hid inside an empty tent, and I guess we must have fallen asleep. It was night by the time we decided to hide, and we’d run a lot. We were scared, and I guess it must have been an adrenaline crash or something.”

The officer studies his face, seeming surprised at Jeno’s choice of words. “An adrenaline crash, huh? How do you know what that is?”

“I’m not stupid.”

“Never said you were,” the officer adds, relenting. “Alright, so you fell asleep. How come no one found you?”

“We must have chosen a great hiding spot,” Jeno grumbles. “Maybe they don’t use that tent, I don’t know.”

The officer takes more notes, nodding along. Jeno resists the urge to flee, crossing his ankles and fisting the sheets on the bed. 

“What happened next?” Officer Park asks.

“We woke up this morning still in the tent,” Jeno says. “It was early, maybe nine? The sun was pretty high up in the sky, which is what woke me up in the first place. We got up, walked around, saw no one. We were about to leave when we found Jungwoo.”

“Where was he?”

“In another tent. He was bandaged, but we could see he was hurt. We tried to ask him what happened, but he couldn’t speak, and then I asked him if they hurt him. He nodded, and that’s when Donghyuck said we had to get him out.”

“How did you manage to sneak him out of the circus?” 

“Hyuck has a pocket knife he carries everywhere, so we used that to cut a hole in the fence, and we more or less dragged him through the park all the way to the road. That’s where the lady hit me – I was in the middle of the road, trying to get her attention, and I guess she didn’t see me in time to hit the brakes.”

“Interesting,” the officer hums. Jeno’s eyes narrow at that, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Anyway, we asked her to call an ambulance. She did, and now we’re here.”

Officer Park continues to nod, scribbling away at his notepad. Jeno shifts awkwardly on the bed, making a conscious effort to let go of the paper sheets before he rips them apart.

“I only have one more question,” the officer says, flashing a grin that chills Jeno to the bones. “You said Jungwoo couldn’t speak, correct?”

“Yeah?”

“How did you know his name?”

Jeno halts. His mouth moves, but no words come out. He doesn’t know how to answer that, and it’s nothing short of a miracle that the doctor joins them in that moment. 

“Lee Jeno?” he asks, looking up from the chart in his hands. At Jeno’s nod of confirmation, he says, “Hello, there. I’m Doctor Kim Youngjo, I’m here to do a check-up— oh, I’m sorry,” he chuckles, looking at the officer, “I didn’t know there was anyone else in here.”

“That’s alright,” Officer Park says, smiling thinly. “We’re done here. Have a speedy recovery, Jeno.”

With that, the officer leaves the room, waving at Jeno before he disappears through the doors. 

“Let’s see,” the doctor says, pulling on a pair of gloves. “I looked at your medical records. How are your injuries, your sight? Any headaches?”

“Fine,” Jeno shrugs. “I’ve been using my glasses most of the time, but I also have contacts.”

“Are you taking your medicines? I see you were prescribed vitamins.”

“Yes.” No. Jeno has not, in fact, been taking his medicines. They completely slipped his mind. 

The doctor hums, writing something on his chart before he instructs Jeno to lie down. “I’m going to check you for any injuries or pain, tell me if it hurts.”

Jeno lies perfectly still as the doctor prods and pushes at his body, pressing down on his tummy and torso with his fingers, moving down to his feet and then moving up. Other than the uncomfortable sensation of fingers poking him, Jeno doesn’t feel any pain, and he says so to the doctor.

“Alright,” the doctor says, taking off his gloves to throw them in the trash. “You’re fine, at least physically. How are your knees? Painful?”

“They hurt more, earlier, but the nurses gave me something for the pain.”

“A spray? Yeah, that numbs the area. I’m gonna prescribe you some painkillers for the knees, and I’m gonna refer you to a therapist.”

“A therapist?” Jeno stutters.

“I noticed you were never referred to one the first time you came here,” Doctor Kim explains, looking up from his prescription pad. “I know you don’t remember much, but it can help. Try not to move around too much during the weekend, okay? I don’t want you messing up your bandages or hurting your knees, especially while the scars are tender.”

“Yeah, fine,” Jeno says softly. “Can I see my friends now?”

“Hmm, yes. Let me go get a wheelchair and I’ll take you to them.”

The doctor wheels Jeno down the hall, into an elevator, and then they ride three floors up, where they enter the Burns unit. Donghyuck is sitting on a plastic chair in the waiting area, biting his nails until they’re raw and pink, but he perks up when he sees Jeno.

“Hey,” he greets him, going as far as to smile a little. “How are you?”

“Not allowed to move for a while,” Jeno sighs. “I can’t feel my knees. I’m okay, though. Thanks, doc.”

The doctor nods, handing him a card with his name and phone number on it before he takes his leave. Jeno waits until they’re alone in the waiting room to speak again.

“How’s Jungwoo?” he asks.

Donghyuck sighs, slumping back on his chair. “They’re treating his burns. They won’t let me in his room, so I’m stuck waiting out here.”

“Have you heard anything from the doctors?”

“They won’t tell me anything, either. A nurse told me he would be fine, but I won’t believe that until I see him for myself.”

Jeno sighs. Two nurses exit a room three doors down from where they’re sitting, and Jeno assumes that it’s Jungwoo’s room. Their uniforms are stained with a reddish brown liquid, though Jeno doesn’t think it came from Jungwoo himself.

“Something happened,” Jeno says as soon as the nurses are out of earshot. “An officer came to see me, asking me about the last twelve hours.”

“Okay?”

“It was weird,” Jeno adds. “I can’t tell you why, but it was weird. There was something off about him.”

“Off, like the circus, or…?” Donghyuck asks, his voice becoming a mere whisper.

Jeno shakes his head, then reconsiders. “I don’t know. Maybe? I just know it freaked me out.”

Donghyuck exhales deeply, looking off to the side. “Let’s agree to stop talking to anyone other than the detectives? I don’t want to say the wrong thing to the wrong person.”

“Agreed,” Jeno nods. “Do you know how much longer before we can see him?”

“I don’t know. It could be hours, though, considering his injuries. We’re just gonna have to wait and see.”

“Yeah,” Jeno purses his lips. “Let’s wait.”

* * *

Renjun smells the fresh bread from the second he steps into the hallway. The air is warm, probably from the oven, and it mixes well with the scent of melting chocolate and whipped cream. 

Dropping his backpack by the shoe rack, Renjun kicks off his shoes and socks, putting on the only pair of slippers left next to the door before he pads further inside the apartment. It was already warm from the summer air, and now the air inside the apartment is stifling, even with the windows open to allow breeze in.

When he turns the corner, his father is sitting on the couch, newspaper in hands, a glass of water on the coffee table in front of him — the glass is dripping condensation onto the wooden surface. 

“Hi,” Renjun waves meekly. “Sorry I’m late, I got the buses mixed up.”

It was annoying, really. Renjun can remember big events, but the simplest things – such as bus schedules – continue to slip through his fingers like sand. He had to wait for nearly twenty minutes under the flimsy shade of the bus stop until the next bus rolled up.

“That’s okay, your mother’s almost done with lunch. You didn’t happen to see Yukhei on your way up, did you?”

“I didn’t see anyone,” Renjun says, shaking his head. “We probably would’ve come in together.”

“You’re probably right. Are you thirsty? It’s hot out today.”

“I’m fine.”

It’s awkward. Renjun stands in the middle of the living room for a full minute, unsure of where to look or what to say, until his mother comes barging out of the kitchen with a fresh batch of cookies and flour stuck in her hair.

“Help me set up the table,” she says in lieu of a greeting, looking straight at Renjun’s father until he gets up from the couch. 

Renjun and his father do as they’re told, carrying plates and cups from the cupboard to the table, spreading individual tablecloths for four people and organising the cutlery. His mother carries tray after tray of food from the kitchen to the dining table, including a loaf of bread she must have baked herself.

The doorbell rings just as Renjun places the napkins on the table. His mother perks up, rushing to open the door while Renjun dreads every second of the following afternoon. 

When she returns, Yukhei is trailing after her. Renjun’s breath gets stuck in his throat as a familiar warmth spreads through his chest. He can’t form a coherent sentence. Handfuls of memories come rushing back to him, but they don’t feel like his own. 

“Yukhei!” Renjun’s father booms, rounding the table to squeeze Yukhei in a hug. “How was the trip?”

“Hello, Mr. Huang,” Yukhei grins. “It was alright, thank you.”

Yukhei’s eyes fall on Renjun. A part of him wants to wave, another part wants to hug him, but most of his brain is screaming at him to run, to take cover. Renjun knows he couldn’t handle the slightest attempt at physical affection right now, and it scares him – he doesn’t know why he feels so scared. Like his blood was replaced with ants.

“Um,” Renjun mumbles, lifting a hand to wave. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“Let’s sit down!” says his mother, pushing Yukhei into the direction of the table.

Of course, they end up sitting next to each other. Renjun keeps his eyes firmly on his plate, passing a bowl of rice to Yukhei without looking at him, and most of the conversation flies over his head. His parents ask Yukhei about his university, his classes, if he’s still doing track ,if he’s met anyone in the city, and Yukhei answers all their questions with a smile.

In the meantime, Renjun stuffs his face with food and avoids eye contact with everyone. They try to rope him into the conversation a few times, but he dodges each attempt with monosyllabic responses and curt nods. He’s being rude, Renjun is aware of that. 

Renjun only really answers Yukhei’s questions: how has he been feeling since he left the hospital? Does he know the other boys? Do they get along?

(“I’ve been okay, I guess. I keep getting dizzy when I stand up too quickly but the doctors said that’s a side effect from malnutrition and whatnot.”

“Yeah, I mean, I knew Donghyuck from school, right? I don’t think I’d ever talked to the others before, though.”

“We do, actually. Jaemin can be a little weird sometimes, and Jeno lets them get away with too much, but I like them.”)

The mention of Jeno’s and Donghyuck’s names leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and he’s no longer hungry all of a sudden. How can he sit here and eat, as if nothing’s wrong, when he doesn’t even know if they’re still alive?

Renjun shuts down again after that, too busy imagining all the worst case scenarios his mind can conjure up, pushing his food around on his plate. He’s tried to get a glimpse of their future multiple times since last night, to no avail. Renjun can’t see anything.

After they’ve all finished eating, Renjun’s mother insists they catch up by themselves, practically shoving them to Renjun’s room. Once inside, Yukhei hesitates before he sits on Renjun’s desk chair, stretching his legs and crossing his ankles. Renjun hovers awkwardly by the door, then gingerly sits on the edge of his bed.

“So,” Renjun tries, his throat parched. “How’s it going?”

To his surprise, Yukhei laughs. He isn’t laughing at him, per se, it isn’t mocking, but – it’s more like he’s laughing at Renjun’s words. 

“How’s it going?” he echoes, still laughing softly. “Wow, you really don’t remember me.”

Renjun doesn’t know why he does it. “Yes, I do!” he cries defensively, even though it isn’t true. Not all of the truth, anyway. “I know you’re Wong Yukhei. We were best friends up until I disappeared, you did sports in school, you had two cats, and you lived with your mom and aunt until you left for college.”

“Okay,” Yukhei says, nodding good-heartedly. “So, you remember basic stuff about me. That doesn’t mean you remember me, though.”

“I know we were together,” Renjun challenges. 

Yukhei raises his eyebrows. “You do?”

“Y-yeah. I remembered a few days ago.”

“And,” Yukhei licks his lips, nervous, all traces of mirth gone from his face, “How do you feel about that?”

“I’m not sure,” Renjun says. “It’s… I remember it, but it doesn’t feel like my own memories. It happens with a lot of things, not just this – a lot of my memories feel foreign, as if someone told me about them.”

“Really?” Yukhei asks. He frowns, leaning forward. “Your parents told me you didn’t remember anything.”

“I don’t – technically. I keep forgetting little things, like today when I forgot the bus schedule. Or the other day, when Jaemin said he found a stack of Pokémon cards in his closet, I had no idea what he was talking about.”

“Wow,” Yukhei says.

“It’s not just that, either,” Renjun continues, getting more fired up – it feels good to talk about this, and Yukhei’s eyes are too honest to fake his interest. “I remember doing some dumb school play in middle school, but it’s like – like I see it from someone else’s eyes.”

“Have you mentioned that to your doctor?” Yukhei asks him. “Or to the other boys?”

“There hasn’t been time,” Renjun replies. It’s the short way of saying that he keeps thinking of saying something about it, then promptly forgets in the face of everything else that’s happening in their lives. Renjun can barely remember to take his vitamins, for crying out loud.

Yukhei nods again. Renjun can see the words getting caught in his throat, overthinking before he opens his mouth.

“Is that what happens with your memories of us?” Yukhei asks him, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah. It doesn’t feel like it was me who dated you, but someone else.”

Renjun doesn’t mention how nervous he felt when he saw Yukhei earlier, or the way his palms are sweating. He knows he has to keep that much to himself if he has any hopes of getting through this conversation unscathed.

“It’s… I know you probably don’t want to hear this,” Renjun continues, playing with his fingers, “But I don’t feel anything toward you. Not romantic, at least.”

Renjun thought he would feel better after saying it, but he doesn’t. He thought he would be able to look Yukhei in the eye, but he can’t. Instead, he keeps his gaze locked on the little rug between their feet.

“I’m sorry,” Renjun finishes.

Yukhei doesn’t reply for a good while. Renjun lets him be, unsure of the reason behind Yukhei’s silence – his mind races a mile a minute with hypothetical scenarios and arguments, all the things Yukhei could possibly say to him.

“I understand,” is what Yukhei finally says. Renjun startles, pulled out of his increasingly depressing thoughts. “It’s been over a year, your memories are gone – you certainly have other things to worry about.”

“Yukhei—”

“No, no, let me finish. It stings, but… I don’t blame you. When they told me you were back,” he says, a ghost of a smile on his lips, “I couldn’t believe it. But my first thought wasn’t that my boyfriend was back, or that we were getting back together— I was just happy to know my best friend was alive.”

Renjun allows himself to grin a little. He knows Yukhei is being sincere about that much, but something tells him he’s holding back on other things.

“The whole ride here I was just thinking that I couldn’t wait to see you. I mean, I am a little disappointed that things won’t be the way they were, but I should’ve known that from the start.”

Yukhei falls silent. Renjun guesses he’s said his piece, and that now is his turn to talk.

“Thank you,” Renjun says. “Don’t… don’t beat yourself up, over having expectations.”

With a sigh, Renjun moves to stand in front of Yukhei. The boy glances up at him, eyelashes wet with unshed tears, and Renjun swallows past the knot in his throat.

“If it isn’t too much to ask,” Renjun says, “I would like for us to be best friends again.”

Yukhei doesn’t answer for a second, but then a smile shows on his face. “Of course.”

Renjun grins back, relieved. When he glances at the clock on his bedside table, he sees it’s almost 4 o’clock — he has a little over an hour before he has to go back to Detective Suh’s place.

As he opens his mouth to suggest they catch up, a knock comes on his door, followed by his mother poking her head inside his room. “Renjun, sorry to interrupt, but your phone’s been going off like crazy.”

Renjun rushes to take his cell phone from her hands. He sees the twenty missed calls from Jaemin and Yangyang before the screen lights up with another incoming call from Jaemin.

“Hello?” Renjun says into his phone.

Jaemin’s voice comes in a flurry through the speaker. “Renjun, where the fuck have you been? We’ve been calling you like crazy!”

“Sorry, I left my phone in the living room – did something happen?”

“We found them – Jeno and Hyuck, they’re in the hospital.”

The words chill Renjun to the bone. “Are they okay?”

“They’re fine, kinda, Jeno got hit by a car but they say it isn’t serious.”

“I – wait, did you say you were calling me for a while?”

“Yeah?”

Renjun whips around to gape at his mother. “Mom, my phone wasn’t even on vibrate, why didn’t you tell me it was ringing?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” she defends herself, but she doesn’t sound sincere. “Besides, I didn’t think it was important.”

“Jeno got hit by a car,” Renjun hisses, brushing past her. He’s at their door in a second, reaching for his shoes while he holds his phone between his ear and his shoulder. “Are you at the hospital yet?”

“Almost there, I had to take a detour to get Yangyang. Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No, it’s fine, I’ll meet you there.” Renjun hangs up and ties his shoes in record time, looking at his parents and Yukhei stand at the turn of the hallway. “I have to go, sorry.”

“But, Yukhei just got here,” his mother tries, laughing nervously.

“Jeno’s in the hospital — Jesus, don’t you listen? Sorry, Yukhei, but my friend needs me, I’ll see you around.”

Renjun doesn’t wait for either of them to reply, grabbing his keys and bolting for the door, taking the stairs one at a time as he races downstairs. 

* * *

Donghyuck hears them before he sees them.

He has his back turned to the door, rearranging the trinkets on the drawer. The doctors finally allowed them to see Jungwoo after they moved him to a private room on the fifth floor, and Donghyuck hasn’t left his side since. By nothing short of a miracle, both Donghyuck and Jeno still had their wallets in their pockets, so while Jeno left for the cafeteria to buy a snack, Donghyuck stayed in the room with Jungwoo.

He hadn’t expected there to be anything in the room other than furniture and machines, so Donghyuck was surprised to find a pile of magazines on the bedside drawer, a stack of cards, and the day’s newspaper. Donghyuck entertains himself by playing around with them, chatting Jungwoo’s unconscious ears off.

The elevator dings at the far end of the hall — which Donghyuck doesn’t hear. What he does hear is the sound of multiple pairs of footsteps pounding down the hall to their room, and he tenses, fearing the worst.

Donghyuck clenches a fist, ready to hurl the entire drawer at the intruders if it turns out to be one of Taeyong’s hooligans — and stops in his tracks when he sees Renjun’s face.

“Renjun?” Donghyuck asks, just to be sure. He doesn’t trust his own eyes anymore, not after meeting Yerim’s mother and the entire ordeal with Officer Park. 

“Donghyuck!” Renjun gasps, running into the room. Donghyuck doesn’t have time to brace himself before Renjun’s tackling him into a hug, rushing out words of apologies. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I should’ve seen this coming.”

“I’m alright,” Donghyuck says, awkwardly patting Renjun’s back. It sounds like Renjun, but he can’t be sure.

Jaemin and Yangyang stare at him from the room’s open door, stuck between gaping at him or Jungwoo. 

“He’s fine, too,” Donghyuck tells them. “He’s unconscious but the doctors say he will get better.”

“Is that—” Yangyang chokes out.

“Jungwoo, yeah.”

Jaemin’s knees buckle and he would meet the ground if it weren’t for Yangyang. “Oh, my God. He’s alive?”

“Just barely,” Donghyuck grumbles, breaking free of Renjun’s grasp to stand protectively by Jungwoo’s bed. Jaemin takes a step forward, but he stops when he notices Donghyuck’s guarded expression.

“Hyuck, what is it?” Jaemin asks. “It’s just me.”

Donghyuck narrows his eyes. “Says you.”

“You don’t think it’s us.”

Donghyuck’s silence is enough of an answer. Yangyang frowns, scanning around the room before he asks, “Where’s Jeno?”

As if Donghyuck will answer that.

“Damn,” Yangyang whispers. “He really doesn’t think it’s us.”

“Donghyuck, this is ridiculous,” Jaemin huffs. “Who else could it be?”

“Prove it.”

The three glance at each other. Yangyang shrugs and says, “Alright. You dip your fries in ice cream and you think Mark’s your pillow.”

“Uh,” Renjun stutters, “The other day we went to the library and you slipped on spilled cola, and the librarian scolded you even though it wasn’t your fault.”

“You told me my cologne made me smell like fuckboy,” Jaemin deadpans.

Donghyuck’s smiles stretch into a slow smile. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Yangyang grins and launches himself at Donghyuck, smothering him in a hug. Donghyuck hugs him back, for real this time, and he feels the tension evaporate from his body for the first time in a long time.

“It’s great to see you again,” Jaemin says, pulling him into a hug too. “What happened?”

Donghyuck does his best to explain. It’s weird to put everything into words, especially when he isn’t sure about some of the details, but they listen quietly, and they don’t interrupt him when he clearly doesn’t know what he’s saying.

“Where are the detectives?” Donghyuck asks when he’s done talking. “And Mark?”

“They’re downstairs, talking to your doctors,” Renjun replies. “Mark said he would buy you guys something to eat.”

“He must have run into Jeno, then,” Donghyuck mumbles. To their benefit, he adds, “Jeno went to the cafeteria to buy something to eat.”

As if on cue, Jeno’s voice rings through the hallway, followed by Mark’s own, and then they’re in the room.

Donghyuck’s eyes prickle with tears in spite of his best efforts. One fear that’s stuck with him has been the possibility of Mark getting hurt – or worse – because he wants to help them, and he doesn’t have the words to express how relieved he feels to see him.

“Oh, thank God,” Mark breathes, rushing forward. Donghyuck doesn’t care that he nearly crushed his ribs, or that the air’s knocked out of his lungs. “I thought you were dead– I thought–”

“I know,” Donghyuck interrupts him softly, tightening his grip around Mark’s torso. “I’m sorry.”

When Mark pulls away, his eyes are red-rimmed and glossy; Donghyuck imagines he must look much the same. Still, he works up a smile, especially after seeing Jeno trapped between the other three – if he isn’t mistaken, Renjun’s tearing up, too. Jeno’s still in his wheelchair, too weak to walk on his own, but his grin is huge.

Mark’s gaze travels to Jungwoo and he curses in surprise, eyes widening. “Who’s that?”

“This is Jungwoo,” Donghyuck says, wiping a stray tear away. “He was in the circus with us. He helped us escape.”

“What happened to him?”

Donghyuck stammers, unsure of how to reply. “Uh, well, when we escaped... apparently Jungwoo had been giving them false information. They have a very swift and cruel way to deal with liars among them.”

“Is he gonna make it?” Mark asks.

“According to the doctors, yeah. They said he’s gonna need, like, skin transplants? They used a lot of big words but that’s what I understood. His voice, though… he suffered a lot of damage to his vocal cords and they don’t think he will be able to speak again.”

Yangyang frowns, moving to stand by Jungwoo’s side. “Maybe I can help?”

“Do it gradually,” Jaemin suggests. “Only a little at a time, so they don’t get suspicious.”

With a distracted nod, Yangyang finds a strip of skin uncovered by the bandages and closes his eyes. Donghyuck waits with bated breath as Yangyang works. 

The detectives come in halfway through Yangyang’s efforts. Johnny sighs in relief when he sees them, making a double-take at Jeno’s body in a wheelchair. Doyoung visibly relaxes at the sight of them, too, and he has to take a seat on the leather seat in a corner.

“Oh, Jesus,” Doyoung mumbles. “I can’t feel my legs. Oh my God, Jeno, I–”

“Don’t worry, I can feel mine,” Jeno waves him off. “It’s just my knees that hurt like a bitch.”

“What happened?” Johnny asks.

Donghyuck doesn’t feel like answering that question again, and he looks at Jeno with pleading eyes. Jeno nods, understanding, and runs them through the past twenty-four hours with detail, while Donghyuck goes back to his place by Jungwoo’s bed.

“How’s it going?” he asks him. 

Yangyang sighs, looking at him without separating his hands from Jungwoo’s body. “I’m almost done with some of the internal damage – his lungs, mostly. I think they’ll take those tubes off him tonight.”

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says. “I was so worried about him.”

“Me, too. I feel so guilty,” Yangyang adds, frowning down at Jungwoo’s unconscious form. “We dragged him into it.”

“We never would have made it out of there without him,” Donghyuck says, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, but still…”

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to say to make Yangyang feel better, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Alright kids, gather around,” Johnny says. Donghyuck detaches from Yangyang to join the rest in the middle of the room, and it’s the first time he notices how cramped the space feels with so many people in it. “We need to talk. Now that we know what happened to Jeno and Donghyuck, we can focus on other things.”

“Like what?” Jeno asks.

“Like what we’re gonna do tonight,” Renjun tells him. “We know they have some insane plan that they’re gonna execute tonight, and that somehow they tricked the whole town into going.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have eavesdropped on some super important conversation that held the answers to all our questions, would you?” Doyoung asks them. 

Jeno and Donghyuck shake their heads sheepishly. 

Doyoung sighs. “Alright. Well, if you ask me, the first thing we need to decide is who stays here with Jungwoo.”

“What do you mean?” Jaemin frowns.

“Obviously, he can’t stay here by himself.”

“He’s right,” Donghyuck nods. “They probably already know he’s here and we can’t risk them coming back to… to finish the job.”

“So what, do we draw sticks?” Yangyang suggests.

“I think you should stay, Jeno,” Johnny says. At Jeno’s upset expression, the detective elaborates, “You’re injured, and –”

“Yangyang can heal me!”

“Yes, but we still need you to stay with him. Please, trust me on this one.”

“Is he gonna stay by himself?” Mark asks.

Johnny purses his lips, glancing at his partner. “I think we can ask Kun to be here with them. If anything, he can shoot anyone that tries to hurt them.”

“Kun can shoot a gun?” Yangyang blurts out. His face reddens with embarrassment once he realises his outburst, though. “Sorry, I was just surprised.”

“Yes, he can shoot,” Doyoung tells him. “He’s very good at it, in fact.”

“Damn,” Yangyang mumbles. 

“Alright, so we call Kun,” Johnny says. “He stays here with Jeno and Jungwoo. I’m gonna give him a call, see if he can get here soon.”

Kun arrives at the hospital room fifteen minutes later with a harried expression on his face, Han Dong hot on his heels. Donghyuck has never spoken more than two words to them before, but Yangyang has nothing but nice things to say about them, so Donghyuck is inclined to like them.

“What’s going on?” Han Dong asks, glancing between Yangyang and the detectives. 

“It’s a long story,” Johnny tells them. “There isn’t time to explain all of it. Here.” He passes a gun to Kun, who fumbles with it in surprise. 

“Whoa,” Kun exclaims. In spite of his nerves, he seems adept at handling the gun, checking to make sure the safe is in place before he secures the gun on his belt. “Why are you giving me a gun?”

“Congratulations,” Doyoung says. “You’re on protection duty.”

“What?”

“We need you to stay here tonight,” Johnny explains. “Watch over Jungwoo and Jeno, and don’t let anyone in here other than the doctors – in fact, don’t even trust the doctors. If Jeno says shoot, you shoot.”

“Why?”

“You’re acting strange,” Han Dong frowns.

Johnny sighs, running a hand over his face. “I’m sure Jeno can give you the rundown while we’re gone.”

“Yangyang isn’t staying here?” Kun asks. “Where are you going?”

“It… really, really is a long story,” Yangyang says to him. “Remember how I asked you not to go to the circus tonight?”

“Yeah?” Han Dong prompts.

“It has to do with that. I know I haven’t been the most honest with you but I promise I will answer all your questions starting tomorrow. Maybe the day after that.”

That is, Donghyuck thinks, if we’re all still even alive by tomorrow. The odds haven’t been exactly stacked to their favour the past year.

“Shouldn’t,” Mark starts, then hesitates. “Shouldn’t Hyuck stay, too?”

Donghyuck snaps his head to the side. “Why?”

“It’s just,” Mark fumbles, looking for the words that won’t upset him. Donghyuck can see it in his eyes. “The last time you went there, they found you, and nearly killed you–”

“What?” the spouses exclaim in unison.

“And I don’t think I can handle another heart attack like that,” Mark finishes quietly.

Donghyuck doesn’t know if he should laugh, cry, or yell at him. Maybe a combination of all three, if he’s being honest, but he settles for the better alternative.

“I’m going to be fine,” he reassures his best friend, holding eye contact to ensure Mark believes him. “The others will be there, Johnny will be there – and they need me, anyway. I’m the only one that has a defensive power.”

He doesn’t need to look at them to know Han Dong and Kun are lost, bewildered, and perhaps considering calling the psych ward. 

“Besides, you’re coming, right?” Donghyuck grins, waiting for Mark’s nod of confirmation before he adds, “Well, I grant you permission to trail me so you can make sure I don’t die in a ditch.”

The joke falls flat for everyone in the room, except Mark. He offers a smile of his own, rolling his eyes, and says, “I don’t need your permission, but thanks.”

“Now that that’s settled,” Doyoung says, standing up. “We need to get going – it’s fifteen past five.”

* * *

It isn’t as if any of them are hungry. Jaemin’s stomach is tight, knotted up to hell, and he thinks he might throw up if he tries to eat anything, but Doyoung made a compelling argument. They need their strength, and so they have to eat.

The detective calls ahead to the pizza service and asks for two family sized margaritas to deliver at Detective Suh’s place. Jaemin feels jittery the entire car ride there, bouncing his leg until Renjun pointedly settles a hand on his knee. It’s only the two of them in this car besides Detective Kim, and the ride is silent save for Detective Kim’s annoyed muttering about other drivers.

The pizza delivery guy is waiting for them outside Detective Suh’s place by the time they arrive. He’s a little annoyed, if Jaemin isn’t mistaken, but Detective Kim gives him an extra hefty tip and he brightens up right away.

“Have you contacted your parents?” Detective Suh asks them once they’re inside, three slices of pizza in front of each of them. “To tell them not to go?”

“Mine said my siblings were too excited to go,” Donghyuck grumbles. “I had to invoke the missing card. Even then, it was hard to convince them to stay home and watch movies with them until they forgot they were upset.”

“My parents want to take Yukhei to see the animals at the petting zoo,” Renjun says, his voice someplace between unbelieving and exasperated. “I swear, they treat him like a child, or like a, like a...”

“Yes?” Donghyuck prompts him.

“Nothing. Anyway, I ended up calling Xuxi and asked him for this favour, so he told them he’s tired from his trip and he doesn’t feel like going out tonight.”

“Jaemin?”

Jaemin shakes his head. “No dice. I tried all afternoon and they won’t budge.”

“We’ll find them when we get there,” Renjun reassures him. “You can get them to safety, or at least get them away from the mess.”

“I guess,” Jaemin sighs. “Alright, we’re here, we’re eating – what are we going to do next?”

“Well,” Detective Kim says, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin, “I have been thinking about what you said, about the circus using fire to punish those that betray them.”

“What about it?” Mark frowns.

“Why? Why that particular method of torture?” Doyoung asks.

Jaemin frowns as well, locking eyes with Yangyang across the dining table. “Because it’s awful and painful?” Yangyang suggests.

“No, it has to be more than that,” Detective Kim says. “Think about it – nothing they do is accidental. So, why fire? It has to be because fire hurts them.”

“Yeah, but fire hurts everyone,” Detective Suh points out. “It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“But if we’re going with the theory that they’re some sort of vampires,” Donghyuck argues, “Then we have to assume fire hurts them.”

“Why?” the detective asks.

Mark blinks. “Fire always hurts vampires in, like, every piece of media ever.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” his brother counters.

“According to Twilight, you have to dismember them and then set them on fire,” Yangyang says.

“A stake to the heart is a favourite,” Jaemin adds.

“So is beheading,” Renjun says through a mouthful of pizza.

“Okay, fine, I get it,” Detective Suh huffs. “So we think they’re vampires?”

His partner hums, tilting his head left to right, as if he’s considering the idea. “They fed from their blood, they’re immortal, they can’t feed from human food – that sounds like a vampire to me.”

Detective Suh shuts his eyes. “I can feel a headache coming on.”

“Okay, so, fire,” Mark nods. “Should we bring matches, then? Or a lighter, or something?”

“You guys wouldn’t happen to have access to a flame thrower, would you?” Donghyuck asks them. Jaemin thinks he’s only half-joking. 

“No flame throwers,” Detective Kim shakes his head. “Although –”

“No,” his partner interrupts him with finality. “No flame throwers. Matches should do the job, they have gasoline in the area, right?”

“Right. And,” Jaemin sighs, slumping his shoulders. “Someone that can control fire. Dammit, I completely forgot about Chanyeol.”

“Oh,” Renjun says. 

“We could always get rid of him first,” Detective Suh suggests, but he doesn’t sound too confident.

“No offense, sir,” Yangyang says, “But Chanyeol is huge. Not to mention he’s completely mental.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s a good idea for either of you to confront him,” Donghyuck tells them. “I can… throw something at him, knock him out.”

“What if Yuta heals him?” Renjun asks him.

Jaemin bites his lips. Donghyuck doesn’t reply, defeated, but then an idea occurs to Jaemin and he nearly chokes on his pizza. Renjun pounds on his back until Jaemin dislodges the food from his throat, and he doesn’t waste a second before he gasps, “Do it in public!”

“What,” Donghyuck deadpans.

“Look, they’re not reckless – everything they do is careful, planned. They don’t want anyone to know about their powers, right?” Jaemin widens his eyes, waiting for the others to nod. “Okay, so, they won’t risk Yuta healing him in front of everyone in town.”

“They could be filmed,” Renjun nods. “And it would end up on the internet.”

“Even if they delete their trace,” Jaemin continues, “they can’t erase the memory from the whole world. It would be out there.”

“All you have to do is wait for the right opportunity,” Mark says. “And then make sure you get him good.”

Donghyuck purses his lips. “I could try to behead him with one of his axes, the ones he uses for his shows.”

“No one bounces back from a beheading without raising a few red flags,” Detective Kim snorts. 

“Once we get rid of Chanyeol, there’s gonna be chaos,” Renjun says. “Not to mention we’re gonna traumatise everyone in the audience. Oh, those kids.”

“Small sacrifices,” Yangyang murmurs. 

The table falls silent for a minute or two. Jaemin is certain they’re all thinking the same thing – how tonight is going to change their town forever, and not necessarily in a good way. All those kids will grow up with nightmares about seeing a man lose his head to an axe, and they will smell the cooked flesh until they’re adults. 

The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and all that, Jaemin thinks bitterly. 

“What if fire isn’t enough?” Yangyang asks. “What if it doesn’t work?”

“I don’t know about you,” Detective Suh says, looking at his partner, “But I plan on going there armed to the teeth.”

“Me, too,” Detective Kim tells him, offering him a half-smile. “The only problem is how we’re gonna walk in there without scaring off everyone and alerting them of our presence.”

The detective pauses, face pulled into a frown as he thinks. Then, his face lights up and he says, “Maybe we don’t. Wait here.”

Detective Suh disappears down the hall, in the direction of his bedroom. When he returns, he’s holding two things: one is a faded green trench coat that reminds Jaemin of an old movie, and the other is a rifle.

“You can’t wear a trench coat in the middle of summer,” Mark says without blinking. “It’s too suspicious.”

“I won’t be wearing it,” his brother corrects him. “Doie will, and he won’t be going into the circus.”

“What do you mean?” Renjun frowns. 

“Across the park is a building, an old shoe factory – it’s been abandoned since the dawn of time,” Detective Suh tells them. “It’s got a perfect vantage point.”

“Oh, yeah,” his partner’s face lights up. “We used to run practice drills there, back when we were at the Academy.”

“Remember those ridiculous Nerf guns they gave to the people doing worse in the course?” Detective Suh snorts. 

“I remember you having to use them all the time.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Donghyuck interrupts them. “Doyoung goes into the factory and sets up camp? What for?”

“Back up,” the detective replies. “I’ll be watching you from inside, and I’ll shoot anyone that comes near you with intention to harm you. I want Mark with me to watch my back, just in case."

“Alright,” Renjun nods. “What about the rest of us?”

“Someone should look for Jisung and Chenle,” Jaemin says. “And someone else should find the gasoline. Donghyuck’s already in charge of eliminating Chanyeol, and that’s gonna create chaos, so the others should try to direct the crowd out of the park rather than further in.”

“Do you think the cops will try to protect the circus?” Mark asks his brother. “You said they had them under their belt.”

“I don’t know,” Detective Suh shakes his head. “It could go either way, to be honest. But if they do, I’ll be there to get as many people out as possible.”

“Who looks for the guys?” Jaemin asks.

Yangyang raises his hand, his fingers stained in sauce and melted cheese. “I’ll do it.”

“I’ll handle the gasoline,” Renjun volunteers. 

“Jaemin,” Donghyuck calls his name. “You should look for your parents. Focus on them, and once I’m done with Chanyeol, you can join us again.”

Jaemin nods. He doesn’t trust his voice to express his gratitude – his parents might be a lot of things, but he loves them nonetheless. He doesn’t want them to get hurt, especially if he can help it. 

When he’s recovered his ability to speak, Jaemin clears his throat, and says, “I think our priority should be to keep them from hurting anyone else. We can’t start the fire until we’re sure there aren’t any bystanders nearby.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Donghyuck mutters.

It’s still too early to go to the circus, so they sit around the living room and get ready. The detectives load their guns in silent companionship, and Jaemin can’t explain why, but the click of the guns as the clips slide into place is strangely satisfying. 

“Are you alright?” Yangyang asks him quietly. They’re sitting further apart from the rest of the group. Donghyuck, Mark and Renjun are huddled on the couch, their heads bent together as they whisper furiously to one another. “I know it’s a dumb question, but –”

“It isn’t,” Jaemin interrupts him gently. “I feel like we don’t ask each other that nearly enough. No, I’m not alright, but I will be. What about you?”

Yangyang shifts his gaze to his shoes, self-conscious. “I’m scared. I remember how our escape attempt went, and I can’t help but notice the parallels. The gasoline, the matchboxes, the distractions… it’s like we’re committing the same mistakes, over and over again.”

“You don’t think it will work?”

“I don’t know that, but I don’t like our odds, either. And then there’s the whole thing about Renjun not seeing our future anymore. I’m just worried everything will go horribly wrong, and we won’t be able to stop it.”

Jaemin exhales, leaning back on the couch. Yangyang follows his lead, their shoulder knocking together. Yangyang’s warm, and Jaemin doesn’t have the heart to shake him off.

“I’m scared too,” he admits to him. “But I don’t think we have a choice here, you know? It feels like fate, everything that’s happened to us so far.”

“I thought fate wasn’t real?” Yangyang grins teasingly. 

“I didn’t think superpowers were real then, either. I know better now.”

Yangyang’s voice is small when he asks, “You think it’s fate that we met?”

Jaemin turns his head to look at him. Yangyang refuses to meet his eyes, blushing. 

“Yeah, I do,” Jaemin says. “I think we were meant to meet.”

“All of us?”

“Sure. And us two, in particular. Kinda how I think Jeno and Donghyuck were always meant to meet.”

Jaemin can’t stop his grin of satisfaction at Yangyang’s flustered expression. 

“Okay,” Detective Suh announces, standing up. Jaemin’s amusement washes away. “We’re done. Are you kids ready?”

“No,” Donghyuck replies. “But it’s not like we have a choice.”

Jaemin would say Donghyuck overheard him if he didn’t know Donghyuck was on the other side of the room, and they weren’t whispering.

“Alrighty, then,” Yangyang nods. “Let’s get this show on the road.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **decapitation, murder, fire, violence, blood, character death**

Yangyang thinks it’s very dumb of the circus to allow them back in their territory after everything they’ve done. It’s almost stupid how easy it is for him to waltz in through the gates as if he belongs here, especially when he makes eye contact with a crew guy who definitely recognises him. 

For a terrifying second, Yangyang thinks the guy will raise the alarms, and that they will have to rush through the plan. He tenses, ready to bolt, but the man only looks away, resuming his task of cleaning up the trash off the ground. 

Somehow, that’s even worse. Now, Yangyang doesn’t know if Taeyong wants them on their turf, or if the staff members want them to succeed. Only one of those options is beneficial to them, but it also happens to be the least likely to be true.

Yangyang shakes his head and silently tells himself to calm down. The sun set a few minutes ago, and it works both for and against Yangyang’s favour – the darkness helps him blend in easier among the crowd, but it impedes him from seeing faces further than ten feet away from him. 

However, Yangyang has a task to fulfill, and he’s dead set on doing it.

If his memory serves him correctly, then Chenle should be in the green tent with Jungwoo. But with Jungwoo gone, there isn’t anyone that can do his lion taming shtick. Yangyang wouldn’t be surprised if someone told him that they killed off the lions after they punished Jungwoo.

In fact, he’s certain that the loss of the lion would be more painful to Jungwoo than anything else they’ve done to him, so it’s almost certain that those cats are dead. 

With Jungwoo and the lions gone, where would Chenle be?

Yangyang stops in front of the prize games and thinks. Other than the animals, Chenle sometimes worked as an usher for the shows, but it’s too early for him to be there yet. The main tent is closed still, and there isn’t sight of Chenle anywhere near it. 

He briefly considers looking for Jisung instead, but he already knows where he will be – in the staff quarter, of course, surrounded by other people that will stop Yangyang the second they see him. 

Children run around him, screaming in joy as they win the games, waving their prizes in the air like trophies. Yangyang spots more than one exhausted parent trying and failing to catch their kid, but they’re the only people he sees that are anything less than thrilled to be here.

It’s a little creepy, if Yangyang chooses to dwell on it. Some smiles are too bright, too wide, and the laughter that rings around him is too cheerful, somehow. Almost fake, as if it’s orchestrated. 

Yangyang shudders, in spite of the warm summer air. 

In the far distance, he hears a cry of delight, followed by the whining of an elephant. By sheer instinct, Yangyang follows the noise to the petting zoo, where a family of five is feeding peanuts to the elephant babies.

Chenle is guarding the fence, smiling down at a little kid that appears fascinated by the tiny lamb – a new member of the circus, it seems, because Yangyang doesn’t remember there being any sheep among the animals.

Yangyang doesn’t know what alerts Chenle of his presence, but then their eyes meet over the crowd and Chenle pales in surprise, stumbling back two steps before he regains his bearings. He’s working, so he can’t run away from Yangyang even when he approaches him, wading through the throng of people until he reaches him. 

“What are you doing here?” Chenle hisses at him, his voice wavering somewhere between scared and pissed off. “Don’t you people learn? Are you waiting for one of you to die before you stop?”

“No one’s dying,” Yangyang says pointedly. A woman shoots them a strange look and Yangyang sighs, grabbing Chenle’s arm and dragging him somewhere more private. There's a porta-potty not ten feet from the petting zoo, and while it isn't ideal, it's a good enough cover from prying eyes and ears. “Look, I need you to come with me, and we have to find Jisung.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Yangyang gripes. “I know you’re scared – believe me, I’m shitting my pants as we speak – but we have to do this.”

“Do what?” Chenle asks him, just as desperate as Yangyang feels. “Don’t you get it? There is nothing we can do. They’re too strong and too powerful, we would never stand a chance.”

“We escaped before, we could –”

“No, you didn’t,” Chenle interrupts him sharply. “I bargained my life, and Jisung’s, and Jungwoo’s, for yours. The only reason you made it out of here is because I threw away our chance at freedom.”

He’s right, and Yangyang knows it. Chenle’s pleading with his eyes for Yangyang to walk away, to stop whatever they’re doing, and Yangyang wishes he could. He wishes he could leave, but he can’t. 

“Let us make it right,” Yangyang insists. “I promise you, this is it. We can get you out of here and we can stop them from harming anyone else, but please, I need you to come with me.”

Chenle eyes him warily. He’s waning, Yangyang knows, but he doesn’t dare celebrate just yet, not until Chenle has given him the verbal confirmation. Yangyang waits with bated breath, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. 

“Okay,” Chenle whispers, and it's a resigned, detached sound. “I’ll come with you. Jisung’s backstage, I can get him for you.”

Yangyang’s shoulders drop in relief. “Thank you,” he says to him. “We’ll protect you, I promise.”

“Stop making promises you don’t know if you can keep.”

With that, Chenle turns on his heels and leaves for the main tent, walking briskly to avoid the crowd. Yangyang follows him at a slower pace, bumping into at least three people before they reach their destination. 

Yangyang falters in front of the entrance. He can’t bring himself to walk in, so he simply nods at Chenle to go ahead without him. Yangyang figures he can hold guard out here, or something like that. 

It isn’t long before Chenle exits the tent again, Jisung close behind. Unlike his friend, Jisung doesn’t give Yangyang a long speech about how they’re wasting their time or they’re all going to die, though he doesn’t look very happy to see him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Yangyang says to Jisung. “Do you think you can leave the circus tonight?”

The boys stare at him. 

“You’re kidding,” Jisung deadpans.

“I’m not. And I meant it in the most literal sense possible, too. You see that building over there?” Yangyang points at the abandoned shoe factory. “A friend of mine is waiting for you on the top floor. His name is Doyoung. I promise you, you can trust him.”

Yangyang watches their expressions closely. Jisung is easy to read – his eyes are crystal clear and Yangyang can see the exact moment Jisung decides to do as Yangyang says – but Chenle is a mystery to him. Chenle’s face is a blank canvas, impossible for Yangyang to tell what he’ll do, and then he nods.

“Fine. Where do we go?”

Yangyang leads them through the crowd, glancing over his shoulder every second or two to make sure they’re still behind him. Jisung latches onto Yangyang’s shirt sleeve, then Chenle grabs Jisung’s shirt, and the three wade across the circus to the front entrance.

The same crew guy from earlier is the only staff member near the gates. Yangyang meets eyes with him again and holds his breath.

The guy stops in his tracks, halfway into dumping a large black bag on the trash. His eyes flicker behind Yangyang, no doubt seeing Chenle and Jisung. He lowers the bag into the trash can, takes a step back.

And then he disappears into the throng of people, leaving the door clear of security.

They run until they’re outside the circus’s territory, where Jisung stumbles, freezing on the spot. Yangyang turns to look at him, expecting the worst, but there isn’t anyone around. 

“Jisung?” Yangyang whispers. “What happened?”

Jisung’s mouth hangs open, closes, opens again. Yangyang doesn’t know what’s wrong with him and he doesn’t have time to find out, either, so he grabs Jisung’s arm and drags him down the edge of the park.

“You’re on your own now, I have to go back,” he tells them. “Doyoung’s waiting for you. Don’t stop for anything on your way there. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“You’re not coming with us?” Chenle asks, alarmed. 

“No, I have to go back in. You’ll be okay,” he stresses, giving them a less than gentle push forward.

Yangyang watches them disappear across the street and into the building before he turns on his heels and returns to the circus. Nothing has changed, people still going about with their wide grins and their laughter, so Yangyang thinks it’s safe to assume Donghyuck hasn’t done his part yet.

He hears footsteps approaching him, and then he feels someone slam into him from the side. Yangyang tenses, ready to strike, but before he can do anything, his mysterious assailant spins him around.

“I can’t find them,” Jaemin whimpers, gripping Yangyang’s shoulders. “I’ve looked everywhere and I haven’t seen them anywhere.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Yangyang frowns. “You mean your parents?”

“Yes! Who else would I be talking about?”

Yangyang can think of a few people, in fact, but he keeps that to himself. 

“I’ll help you look for them,” Yangyang says, easing Jaemin’s death grip off of him. “Come on, let’s start here.”

Jaemin is more than distraught – he’s fucking devastated. He only grows more agitated the more the minutes pass and there isn’t any sight of his parents. It isn’t as if they can stop a random stranger to ask for help, so they must rely on their eyes only.

“Where would they usually go during an event like this?” Yangyang asks, peering over a tall man’s shoulders as he stands on his tiptoes. “You said they do this for PR, right?”

“Yeah, uh, they’d be… Oh, fuck,” Jaemin curses. “With the people in charge, Yangyang.”

“Oh. Well, that’s a problem.”

Jaemin whines. “You think?”

Yangyang bounces his leg as he thinks, but his mind is blank. All he can think of is that Jaemin’s parents are most likely talking to the inner circle right now, and all the million possible ways it could end badly for them. Especially since they most likely know who is their kid.

“We could go look at the big tent,” Yangyang suggests meekly. Jaemin’s eyes tell him everything he needs to know about Jaemin’s opinion on that. “It’s a good idea and you know it. That’s where they all are, so your parents are probably there too.”

“It isn’t time yet,” Jaemin counters. “We can’t let them know we’re here yet.”

“Jaem, they probably already know, and we can’t risk your parents being there and not finding them.”

Jaemin makes a sound of annoyance before he nods. “Alright, we’ll go to the big tent. But if they’re not there, we get the hell away before anything happens –”

Someone shouts in the distance. Silence follows the scream for a never-ending second, and then Yangyang’s ears ring with the cries of an entire audience. Yangyang grabs Jaemin’s forearm before the crowd can separate them, and then what feels like hundreds of people come running out of a tent.

They’re knocked side to side by panicked townspeople, most of which have no idea what’s happening but are still scared, until Jaemin’s senses kick in and he leads them both to safety.

They end up hiding inside a photo booth, drawing the curtain shut save for a small sliver of visibility.

“What the hell?” Yangyang wheezes. He holds a hand against his chest, just above where his heart is going haywire.

Jaemin doesn’t have an answer for him, but Yangyang is able to pick up on bits and pieces of shouted conversations from the crowd. From there, he pieces the puzzle together.

“The axe –”

“– it curved from the side!”

“– so much blood –”

“– awful!”

”His head on the ground –!”

“I think that means Hyuck completed his part of the plan,” Jaemin murmurs. 

* * *

The hospital agreed – albeit reluctantly – to wheel in another couch to the room per Jeno’s request. With only one reclining chair and a tiny two-seat couch tucked into a corner, there isn’t really enough room for all three of them to sit comfortably. A nurse suggested one of them leaves, but Jeno wouldn’t budge.

Now, Jeno sits on the new couch, his legs draped over the armrest to relieve his knees from their pain, and Han Dong takes residency on the other couch, knitting a pair of socks for him. Kun hasn’t sat down in over an hour, pacing up and down the tiny stretch of hospital room with his fingernails between his teeth.

“Darling, why don’t you sit down?” Han Dong says, almost sweet and nonchalant if her eyes weren’t following his every move like a hawk. “You’re going to make a hole on the floor.”

“No,” Kun shakes his head distractedly. “No, I’m fine, thank you.”

Jeno shoves a spoonful of hospital jelly into his mouth. It’s sugar-free, gluten-free and taste-free, but it keeps him occupied. After explaining everything to the married couple, his stomach had turned into a pit and now he’s eating anything he can get his hands on, including the god-awful hospital food he hates so much.

Talking about it was easier than Jeno expected. Sure, at first he stumbled through his explanation, unsure of how to say the things they did to them or what they are, but then he found the words flowing out of his mouth as if it was nothing. 

He thought he would have to shut his eyes in order not to see the horror and pity in their eyes. He thought he would feel embarrassed or ashamed of everything that has happened in the past year, and he thought he would cry. None of those things happened. 

Instead, he was able to finish his entire story without much fanfare, holding their gazes with steady determination. Kun, while he did appear upset, kept a mostly neutral façade while Jeno spoke, nodding to show his understanding and only interrupting him once or twice to ask questions. Han Dong, on the other hand, was absolutely livid.

When Jeno finished speaking, Han Dong huffed, ripped her purse open and pulled out a half-knitted sweater and a ball of wool. She started knitting rapidly, her mouth twisted into half a snarl of anger, and is now onto the second piece of clothing. At least she isn’t ready to commit murder anymore. 

“Is that jelly good?” Han Dong asks him.

Jeno hums, nodding. “It tastes like air but yeah, it’s good.”

Han Dong smiles at his words. “I’m making these socks for you,” she says. “Hospital rooms can be cold and I’m sure those gowns don’t provide much warmth, so I figured you might need them. I don’t think the sweater will fit you, though.”

Jeno doesn’t know what to say. He stammers out a few words of gratitude before shoving the last of the jelly into his mouth and looking away. He glimpses at the TV, and then looks again when he notices a familiar sight.

“Hey,” he says to Kun, “Can you turn the volume up? Please?”

It’s a special report on the news channel. The reporter, a middle-aged man in a blue polo and grey slacks, stands in front of the entrance to the circus, with a multitude of people running behind him. It takes Jeno a second to realise they’re running out of the circus. 

“– the accident took place just minutes ago,” the reporter says into the camera, glancing over his shoulder before he returns his attention to the viewers. “According to the witnesses, a juggler was tossing knives, axes and other sharp objects into the air when one of his instruments seemingly cut his head off.”

“Holy shit,” Jeno whispers. “How did they even do that?”

“You know who that was?” Kun asks.

Jeno nods without tearing his eyes off the screen. “Chanyeol. He controlled fire, always used it during his skits – he would set the knives on fire. One of their biggest threats, to be honest.”

“It wasn’t really an accident, huh?” Han Dong murmurs.

“I don’t think so. He would’ve killed the whole town, anyway, so don’t feel too bad about his death.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Han Dong replies.

Jeno watches the news reporter for a few more minutes until they switch to the stocks market, and then he lowers the volume once more. 

The room lapses into silence once more, save for the beeping of the machines hooked to Jungwoo and the clanking of Han Dong's knitting sticks. Jeno is close to falling asleep, his head lolling onto the couch's backrest with every breath he takes. Han Dong continues to him a song under her breath, and Jeno could swear it's a lullaby.

Jungwoo’s heart rate drops. All three whip their heads to the side, and for a second no one moves, then Kun is sprinting toward the hallway, yelling for the nurses down the hall. Jeno tries to stand up and approach him, but he’s still weak from the anaesthesia and the painkillers. He’s lucky his face doesn’t meet the ground.

Two nurses come into the room, rushing to Jungwoo’s side. They do a lot of things that Jeno doesn’t understand, injecting something into his IV and checking the monitors by his bed. One says something to the other, then they inject something else, and his heart rate returns to normal.

“Is he okay? What happened?” Han Dong asks.

“His heart almost stopped,” a nurse explains. “The damage done to his organ from the smoke inhalation and the burns on his body are making it difficult for his heart to keep up.”

Jeno frowns. “Like a heart attack?”

“No, not like a heart attack. His heart literally stopped for a second, but it wasn’t a heart attack.”

“What was that you injected him just now?” Kun inquires.

“Adrenaline. Just enough to jump start his heart again without using electricity, due to the nature of his injuries. We’ll have the doctor come in and check him out again in a few minutes.”

With that, the nurses take their leave. Jeno wishes he could inch closer to Jungwoo, to talk to him, but he’s terrified of hurting him without meaning to do it.

Besides, how does he expect to talk to Jungwoo or even sit by his side if he can barely look at him?

Jungwoo looks tiny and helpless on the hospital bed. What little that can be seen of him, anyway, under all the bandages wrapped around his body, with all the tubes going in and out of him, with the IV attached to the back of his hand and the hospital gown covering his frame.

“Do you think he’ll make it?” Han Dong mutters.

“He only needs to hold on until morning,” Jeno replies, swallowing thickly. “Yangyang can heal him.”

Please, Jungwoo, he thinks. Please wait a little longer.

True to the nurses’ words, the doctor comes into the room less than ten minutes later. Jeno smiles lightly at the man’s bird nest of a hair and his skewered glasses, though the bags under his eyes make him sober up.

“Good evening,” the doctor says. “Are any of you related to the patient?”

Kun shakes his head. “He doesn’t have any family left. We’re his friends.”

The doctor nods and writes something down on his chart. “Alright. I will need you to step outside while I check his injuries and I’ll let you know when we’re done.”

Jeno can’t move back to his wheelchair on his own, so Kun carries him from the couch to the wheelchair with an arm under Jeno’s knees and Jeno’s arms around his neck. Han Dong pushes him out of the room and down the hall to a waiting area.

The walls here are the same shade of off blue as the rest of the floor, and the four leather chairs are placed on each corner. In the middle of the room lies an old rug, and on top of it sits a low wooden table with a vase full of lilies. 

Jeno manoeuvres his wheelchair to the windows and tries to peer out to the sidewalk. He can’t see much from his vantage point save for the night sky and the tops of the buildings that surround the hospital. An airplane flies over them, its red blinking lights tracing a line in the sky.

“Jeno, are you still hungry?” Han Dong asks. “I can go downstairs and buy you some chips.”

“No, thank you,” Jeno says. “I think it’s better if we stay together.”

“Best not to take any chances,” Kun agrees. 

“I didn’t even want to leave his room,” Jeno murmurs. The idea of being away, unable to help Jungwoo if something bad were to happen, leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Jeno sighs, rolling away from the window and settling in front of the table.

There are a few magazines spread evenly across the surface of the table. Jeno picks up the first one he sees – an old edition of a fashion magazine he doesn’t recognise – and he flips through it distractedly, reading an article on how to keep your hair from frizzing with all-natural remedies.

Jeno doesn’t know how much time passes while they sit around and wait. It could be five minutes, or it could be five hours. The minutes blur together, dragging on slowly, and Jeno feels as if the words on the magazine all blend into one after the first two articles. 

Han Dong continues her knitting, humming a song to herself, but her eyes keep flickering toward the entrance of the waiting room, waiting for the doctor or a nurse to fetch them. Kun doesn’t even move, and he holds a hand to his hip where Jeno knows he keeps the gun. 

Somewhere on the floor, a tray clatters to the ground. Jeno startles, nearly slipping out of the wheelchair, and his hands won’t stop shaking even after Kun’s assured him it was nothing. He tastes metal in his mouth from having bitten his tongue.

Jeno sits on his hands. His jaw trembles, his teeth chattering. He feels a burn behind his eyes, but he doesn’t cry.

The doctor comes around the corner. “We’re done. His injuries are still the same, but he didn’t show any signs of pain – that could be the anaesthesia, or it could be a good sign. You should expect him to wake up soon.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Kun says. 

After the doctor has taken his leave, the three of them congregate and share a relieved sigh. Han Dong crams her knitted socks into her purse and says, “Let’s go back in and we can rest for a while.”

They’re halfway to the room when a nurse appears in their opposite direction. Han Dong is pushing his wheelchair again, saying something about buying breakfast for everyone in the morning at Moonshine Diner, and Kun’s walking slightly ahead of them.

Jeno recognises Wendy after a second. Her hair’s shorter than usual and she’s wearing a nurse’s uniform, but that’s her. 

His blood runs cold. Jeno opens his mouth, tries to speak, but all that comes out is a squeak. He tries once more, and this time his voice makes enough of a sound to catch Han Dong’s attention.

“Sweetie? Did you need anything?” 

Jeno lifts his hand and points at her. Han Dong calls her husband’s name, and he turns around with a hum to check on them, but Jeno can’t tear his eyes away from Wendy.

Wendy’s mistake is getting smug. She makes eye contact with Jeno and smiles, as if she’s already won. It jolts Jeno out of his stupor and he finds his voice.

“Kun, her!” he stammers, still pointing at her. 

“What?” Kun spins around, hand on his gun.

“It’s her, she’s one of them. Shoot her!”

Vaguely, Jeno can tell he’s shouting. Wendy’s smile disappears and she tries to run in the opposite direction, but the detectives were right – Kun’s an excellent marksman. Two bullets hit her on the back and she drops to the ground, face first.

A pool of blood grows around her as the nurses on the station at the other side of the hall come running toward them. Similarly, two security guards rush toward Kun, their own guns drawn out, barking at him to drop the gun and put his hands behind his head.

Han Dong’s trying to talk them into lowering their weapons, her voice shaking. Jeno stares at Wendy’s dead body until they cover her body with a white sheet, and then he looks at the security guards putting Kun in handcuffs.

“Don’t take him away,” Jeno pleads softly. “He saved me, don’t take him away.”

One of the guards frowns, stepping around Kun’s restrained form to approach him. He crouches in front of Jeno to be at eye level with him and asks, “What are you talking about?”

“She,” Jeno stammers, nodding toward Wendy, “she kidnapped me, she helped them… Kun was just protecting me, please don’t take him.”

The guards look at each other briefly, then the one that spoke to Jeno nods to his partner and they release Kun from his cuffs. Kun rubs his wrists, thanking them.

“Have you told anyone about this, kid?” the security guard asks Jeno.

“The detectives handling our case,” Jeno says. “They know.”

The guard nods again, standing up. The next thing Jeno knows, they’re dragging Kun, Jeno, and Han Dong into Jungwoo’s hospital room, their guns drawn out.

In spite of the married couple shielding Jeno from the guards, Jeno can see their faces perfectly well. A dark amusement dances behind their eyes as one of them says, “You should’ve kept your mouth shut.”

* * *

The chaos leads Renjun away from the crowd and closer to the staff quarters. It started to rain minutes ago, a soft drizzle that soon turned into a torrent, and his clothes are soaked, clinging to his body, his hair splattered to his forehead. 

The circus is starting to empty out, most people choosing to run for the hills rather than stick around to see what the commotion is about. Renjun doesn’t think the majority of them even know what happened to Chanyeol, let alone saw it, but the human instinct to survive seems to have won over the curiosity this time, because very few people try to approach the scene.

Renjun stumbles over his feet, hitting a trash can and knocking it to the ground. Heaps of trash fall out, crumpled-up napkins and sticky food wrappers, half-empty cola cans and water bottles, and they make enough noise to attract the attention of anyone in the near vicinity – or it would have, under normal circumstances. Given the situation, only three or four people look in his direction, but none of them stops.

Regaining his balance, Renjun dusts off the cuffs of his jeans and straightens up. Raindrops pelt down on his back and he shivers, pulling his shirt tighter around his body – the rain whips his soaked hair side to side. 

He knows the tent where they keep the gasoline is around here somewhere. They always use the same tent, a small grey one with faded blue stars on the fabric, and they always set it up close to the parking lot. In addition to the gasoline, they often store replacement pieces and tools, to make sure they’re handy and close in case they need them.

The parking lot is within a hundred feet from where Renjun is standing. The rain makes it difficult for him to see much, but he thinks he can spot the trucks parked parallel to the tents and nothing else. Which means, no one among the circus has opted to run away.

Unless they decided to escape by foot, Renjun thinks. Not the best option for most of them, but the crew is full of humans that might have run as fast as their legs could carry them. It’s a bittersweet thought – they were being held captive as they were, but Renjun can’t help but feel upset they never did anything to help them.

Renjun squints to keep the water out of his eyes as he treads through the tents, far past the point of being sneaky or careful – now that the circus is empty of bystanders, they’re on the final countdown. He needs to get his hands on the gasoline as soon as he can, and in order to do so, he needs to move.

The ground has turned muddy and slippery, his sneakers splashing against the puddles of water and dirtying his jeans. Renjun avoids falling two more times before he runs into the tent, quite literally. He takes a turn to the left and finds the tent on his path, the roof starting to cave in from the rain. 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone in the area, so Renjun goes ahead and enters the tent without a second thought. The roof is leaking and the floor has turned into a disaster zone, much as how it is outside, and Renjun prays to whoever is out there that the water hasn’t destroyed the gasoline.

Once inside, Renjun doesn’t need to look far until he spots the tanks of gasoline and, thankfully, their lids are sealed tight. He grabs the first tank he sees, grunting as he lifts it off the ground, and then starts to hobble toward the tent’s flaps.

Someone bursts into the tent. Renjun gasps, almost dropping the tank in his haste to get away, but then the person speaks, and Renjun feels relief course through his veins at the familiarity in his voice.

“Renjun, it’s me, it’s Johnny!” 

Renjun squints to see through the rivulets of water dripping from his head over his face. “Detective? What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you!” It’s difficult to hear each other over the howling of the wind and the splattering of the water against the muddied ground, so they must shout over the noise. “Everyone’s at the big tent, they need you.”

They race through the maze of tents, the detective leading the path with Renjun scampering behind him. Renjun slips, almost drops the tank, and he curses his luck – his luck, their luck, everyone’s luck – as he tries to regain his balance. 

It’s dark now. Renjun calculates it must be past seven in the afternoon by now, and while it should still be easy to see ahead, Renjun can’t see shit. It’s too dark, coupled with the incessant rain, and he doubts he could see someone approaching before they’re within two feet of his face.

“I’ll take that!” the detective points toward the tank. “Come on, I’ll help you carry it.”

Detective Suh doesn’t have a problem carrying the tank on his own, and for that he’s grateful. They can even up their speed, and they cut through the circus in record time. 

The circus is completely empty now. As Renjun presumed earlier, the food carts, the game booths, and the souvenir stands are deserted, left abandoned – they must have run when they first had the chance.

From the outside of the tent, everything appears normal, aside from the storm and the disaster. Discarded trash litters the ground, one of the game booths lies turned over. The prize stuffed animals had fallen into puddles of mud, a giant dolphin dirtied around the face. A banner advertising the grand show had slipped from its pole and now lies face down on the dirt.

Detective Suh indicates for Renjun to stay silent as they approach the tent. They’re five feet away when Renjun hears Taeyong’s voice, crisp and clear, over the noise of the rain. He sounds furious, but that’s a familiar notion with him – Taeyong tended to get angry at people as a hobby while they were in captivity.

“When will you understand? There is nothing you can do to stop us!”

Renjun meets eyes with the detective. A silent understanding passes through them not to make their presence known to them, and instead they creep around the side of the tent, looking for a hole through which to peer.

“We’re stronger than you. We’re faster than you. We’re smarter than you. Why keep trying?”

No one answers him. Renjun steps over a puddle, avoids a fallen branch, and keeps from exclaiming in disgust when a rat comes squealing out of the tent.

There is a commotion inside. All Renjun can hear is the sound of skin hitting skin, like a punch or a slap, followed by a shout of pain and an argument. Renjun freezes, terrified this will be it, but then Donghyuck’s voice rises above all else.

“Wait, wait! Before you kill us or skin us alive to lick our bones or whatever the hell you freaks plan on doing – how did you figure out that drinking blood from other people could make you immortal?” A beat of silence, then Donghyuck speaks again. “I mean, I don’t think I would’ve thought of something like that, so…”

Renjun doesn’t think Taeyong will answer, nor does he think Donghyuck really wants to know. He figures he simply wants to buy them some time for Renjun to arrive with the gasoline, or for them to figure out a way out of there without losing a limb.

So it’s surprising when Taeyong speaks again.

“It didn’t start out as wanting to be immortal.”

Renjun pauses, as does Detective Suh. 

“So, what? You were just drinking people’s blood for fun?” Jaemin asks.

“It wasn’t fun,” Jaehyun snaps. “It was survival.”

Renjun raises an eyebrow before following the detective on their second lap around the tent. This time, the tank’s lid is off, and they soak the ground in gasoline. Detective Suh makes sure they soak the edges of the tent without wasting too much fuel before they make the whole round.

“Okay, so it was survival,” Donghyuck prompts. “Why keep doing it after you, you know, survived?”

“Have you ever needed something to survive?” Taeyong asks back. “Food doesn’t do anything for us, neither does water. Blood – your blood – is the only thing that keeps us alive. Why would we give it up?”

They’re back to where they started. Renjun hasn’t felt much in the past hour, the extreme situation rendering him numb, but now the nerves are back with a vengeance and his hands shake. 

Detective Suh makes a motion with his hand to mimic lighting a cigarette, his way of asking if he has a lighter. Renjun shakes his head. Donghyuck said he would handle that part himself, and Renjun can do nothing but pray and hope for the best.

The rain is starting to let up, slowing down to a regular bout of summer rain rather than the disastrous storm it was minutes ago. Renjun mentally cheers for that fact. The less it rains, the smaller chances there are of the gasoline ruining beyond repair.

“I guess that’s the difference between you and me,” Donghyuck says, his voice somewhere between disgusted and sarcastic. “I would rather die than murder who knows how many people.”

“Oh, we didn’t kill most of them,” Taeyong interjects, as if it’s nothing. “The blood loss did that for us. And the infections, the heat, the… what was it that one time? The one who broke her rib?”

“The rib perforated a lung,” Yuta pipes up.

“Right, that! Yeah, well, as you can see…”

“Why Vrais?”

That’s the first time Renjun hears Yangyang speak during this entire time. Detective Suh puts a finger to his lips before he points to a small hole on the tent. Renjun squeezes in next to him and tries to lean in as close as he can to peer through the gap, but it’s difficult to glimpse much.

As far as he can see, his friends are on the opposite side of the tent, shoulders pressed together. The inner circle stands across from them, Taeyong in the middle, the others flanking him on for protection. Only half of the stands were set up by the time the disaster unfolded, and there are ropes and pieces of machinery lying on the ground. 

“I mean, you keep coming back here,” Yangyang continues. “There’s gotta be a reason.”

“Wouldn’t you like to come home, too?” Seulgi asks him.

Renjun can’t say he didn’t see it coming, but that doesn’t make it any less surprising to hear it confirmed. 

“Hold on a second,” Jaemin says, and Renjun can imagine him frowning in confusion. “You said you did the things you did for survival, what does that mean?”

No one says anything. Renjun thinks they were lucky enough they told them as much as they did already. Enough stalling.

Renjun takes the fuel tank from Detective Suh and gently shakes it, listening for the sloshing of the gasoline on the bottom to make sure there is enough left for what he’s about to do.

“You ready?” Detective Suh mouths. 

No, Renjun thinks. But ready or not, Renjun has a task.

Taking a deep breath, Renjun moves toward the side of the tent where the inner circle is standing, and then digs for the edge of the fabric – it’s loose enough that he can lift it off the ground.

In his head, Renjun had pictured this evening going much differently than it did. In particular, this following moment went a lot smoother in his head.

Renjun slides into the tent, awkwardly holding the tank in one hand while he uses the other to hold the cloth above his head. His friends see him first, and then a second later, the inner circle turns around, spotting him five feet away from them with bottled gasoline in his hands.

There’s a decidedly awkward pause, in which everyone stares at each other in varying degrees of surprise and shock. 

Renjun takes advantage of that. He sprints toward them, flinging the tank around to splash all of them with the gasoline before he takes a detour and runs for the safety of his friends.

“Donghyuck! Fire!” Jaemin shouts.

Donghyuck doesn’t need to be told twice. The inner circle don’t seem to understand what’s going on— Seulgi’s gaping at her soaked body, and Irene’s eyes are shut to keep the liquid off away, while the others simply stand there in shock and anger.This is their shot.

A lighter drops from Donghyuck’s palm. Yangyang dives for it, flicking on the fire before he throws it at the inner circle.

For a horrible moment, Renjun thinks it will miss its target. He sees the lighter draw an arc in the air, the fire flickering in and out, and it appears it won’t reach them, that Yangyang’s strength was off and it will fall halfway there.

But then Donghyuck locks his eyes on the lighter and an invisible force propels it forward. It hits Yuta square on the chest.

Milliseconds later, Yuta screams as he’s set on fire. 

* * *

It all happens in a matter of seconds, maybe less. One moment, the inner circle is standing in shock, dripping gasoline, speechless, with Yuta looking down at his chest where the lighter hit him. The next, hell begins.

Yuta’s screams are beyond what Donghyuck thought they would be. He’d expected them to be loud, pained, but he didn’t think they would chill him to the bone. At the beginning, Yuta stomped his feet as if it would put away the fire, but then the desperation began to set in as he realises there is nothing he can do.

His friends, for all the loyalty they demand, stepped away from him the second that lighter touched him, and now they’re avoiding the flames with everything they have, stumbling away and nearly trampling each other in the effort. But it doesn’t work, because the lighter is still open when it hits the ground, and it doesn’t take long for the fire to reach them.

Donghyuck can’t tear his eyes away from them. He feels a sick sense of fascination with the way Jaehyun’s skin burns, melting off his bones and falling to the floor, how Seulgi shrieks and falls to her knees as the fire crawls up her legs. Taeyong screams in terror, swiping at his arms and legs as if it will put out the fire.

For a long second, none of the four move. Donghyuck stares at them, at the inferno they’ve made, terrified and fascinated but mostly nauseous. Johnny’s voice breaks him out of his stupor. 

“Get the hell out of there!”

Donghyuck blinks and snaps his head to the side. The detective is waiting for them by the entrance to the tent, his eyes wide as he frantically waves at them to move, half his suit torn and his person soaked to the bone. 

Someone grabs Donghyuck’s arm and starts dragging him away. Donghyuck follows blindly, his attention still on the inner circle as they burn.

There is a loud crash as an entire section of stands falls to the ground, blocking their sole exit. They hear Johnny shout an expletive, then his voice tapers off as the fire roars alive on the wooden structure.

“Fuck!” Yangyang exclaims, staggering back. Renjun bumps his nose into the slope of his neck and he curses too, causing a chain reaction that finalises with Jaemin falling flat on his back – right next to a small fire.

Jaemin shouts, panicking, and Donghyuck doesn’t let himself think about what would have happened had he fallen inches to the left, instead hauling his friend back to his feet by the collar of his shirt. 

“Come on, this way!”

They follow Renjun to the other side of the tent, weaving through small fires and avoiding the larger flames that threaten to singe off their eyebrows. Irene, curled on the ground, swats an arm out in a futile attempt to catch one of them by the ankle. Once her limb touches the floor again, she stops moving altogether.

The fire is growing stronger, spreading through the tent at a speed they failed to consider when they planned this, and the smoke – Donghyuck feels the smoke invade his nostrils, clogging up his airway. Not to mention it makes it ten times harder to see where they’re going. 

Donghyuck reaches out blindly until he finds Jaemin’s hand and holds on. 

“Grab—” he tries, but the smoke flies into his throat and all he can do is cough violently. Thankfully, Jaemin understands what he’s trying to say, and they form a chain of held hands to keep from separating in the midst of the disaster.

Renjun leads them to the edge of the tent where the fire hasn’t reached yet, where there is enough room to crawl out. They push Jaemin out first – it takes a second to convince him, but one of the supporting beams comes down, crushing Jaehyun’s still flailing form underneath it, and it’s enough of a shove for Jaemin to get on his hands and knees.

A nagging voice at the back of Donghyuck’s head worries about the gasoline still on the ground, but soon Jaemin is outside of the tent and the concern flies out of his mind. They hear Jaemin hack and cough, no doubt taking advantage of the fresh air outside the tent, and then Renjun’s rushing Yangyang to go next.

Except, the beam that fell down turns out to have been more important than Donghyuck thought it was, and half of the tent falls as well, a plank trapping Seulgi as she tries to wiggle her way to them. 

As the tent drops, the fire reaches what little space they had left and Yangyang barely has time to back up before he loses his face to the flames.

“Dammit, dammit, dammit,” Renjun chants, half of it unintelligible due to his sore throat. He glances around, desperate, and his tears temporarily wash away the soot on his face. “Ground, now, no smoke.”

Donghyuck doesn’t need to hear that twice. He falls to his knees next to Yangyang, lowering his head as much as he can to breathe in a little smoke-free air, but that doesn’t make it any better.

Faintly, he hears Jaemin and Johnny shouting from outside the tent. Yangyang’s holding onto Renjun’s wrists, a glow indicating he’s doing something to him before his free hand shoots out and grabs Donghyuck and— Donghyuck can breathe.

Sucking in a greedy lungful of air, Donghyuck lies flat on his stomach. It doesn’t matter to him that every breath he takes makes him suck in dirt from the ground, what matters is that his airways are free and that it doesn’t hurt as much to breathe.

“What— what now?” Yangyang rasps out. 

Renjun shakes his head, helpless. “I don’t know! This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Knowing the future…” Donghyuck croaks, coughing before he can continue, “changes it. Not your fault.”

That doesn’t seem to make Renjun feel any better. 

Donghyuck didn’t think this would be the way he goes. Up until a year ago, he thought he would die of old age, maybe have a heart attack or go in his sleep. While they were in captivity, he envisioned many ways they could kill him— bleed him out, snap his neck, poison him, the list goes on. He certainly didn’t dare dream about a future where his life went back to normal, and only hoped that whichever and whenever he died, it would be quick.

But since their escape, that changed. In spite of everything, all the risks they were taking and how dangerous it would be, Donghyuck didn’t think this would be it. He was starting to daydream about the After – he planned on going to vet school, to convince his parents into giving him their old car so he could move to the city, to go to all the places he always wanted to visit.

Now, as he lies on the ground, his lungs filling up with smoke again in spite of Yangyang’s best efforts, Renjun’s ragged breathing painful to even hear and Yangyang’s whimpers as healing them takes a toll on him, he realises he doesn’t care about any of that. He doesn’t care about a stupid degree or a car or a trip.

Donghyuck wants to go home and play with his siblings in the backyard. He wants to join his dad for one of his silly documentaries and cook with his grandmother. He wants to spend another afternoon with Mark doing absolutely nothing but talking shit and playing video games. He wants a normal day with his friends where they don’t have to worry about psychotic vampires or circuses. He wishes he’d kissed Jeno before leaving the hospital.

The hand on his wrist tightens.

“Hyuck?” Yangyang calls weakly. Donghyuck doesn’t reply. “Hyuck, come on, wake up.”

“What’s happening?” Renjun asks. 

“His heart rate’s going down. Hyuck, come on,” Yangyang tries again. “Don’t do this to me, man, please.”

Donghyuck feels Renjun’s hand squeezing his fingers, but Donghyuck doesn’t have the strength to reciprocate. 

“Hyuck,” Renjun says, firmly, or as firmly as his throat allows him to be. “Wake up, stay with us.”

That sounds wonderful, Donghyuck thinks. He wishes he could do that.

Something in the air changes. Yangyang exclaims in a noise that sounds like fear, and Donghyuck takes advantage of the little strength he has to loll his head to the other side.

There, like something out of Donghyuck’s worst nightmares, is Yuta, still ablaze and walking toward them.

Renjun shouts, terrified and disgusted. Donghyuck shuts his eyes against the vision, feeling vomit rise to his mouth. Yuta’s skin is burnt to a crisp, one molten eye hanging out of his socket and half his set of teeth visible. 

Yangyang weeps, muttering to himself that this can’t be happening, except it is, it is happening and it’s the last thing Donghyuck had expected. 

“How?” Renjun whispers.

He can heal himself, Donghyuck says in his head. He must be working himself to death in order to keep moving, but it must be doable. 

Yuta walks unsteadily toward them, his knees knocking together as his joints de and regenerate over and over, a full chunk of skin sliding off his arm – it doesn’t even appear as burnt skin, just melted wax. It doesn’t explain the smell of burning human flesh, though.

“God, god,” Yangyang whimpers. “I can’t stop him.”

Turns out, he doesn’t have to. 

Whatever juice there was left in him runs out, and Yuta falls once more, never to get up again. Donghyuck scans what he can see of the tent, the unmoving corpses burning until they're unrecognisable, and at least that gives him some sense of peace.

They’re never hurting kids again, and that’s all that Donghyuck cares about.

His eyelids begin to flutter closed. Yangyang’s attention returns to him, frantically checking for his pulse, and Renjun crawls closer – not that he has any choice, the fire encircling them until there’s nowhere else to go.

They should be dead, Donghyuck thinks. All the smoke, the heat, it should have killed them, if it weren’t for Yangyang. But Yangyang won’t be able to keep this up for long, and soon the three of them will have no chance.

At least Jaemin got out, and Donghyuck knows in his heart that Johnny took him to safety. Jeno is safe at the hospital with Kun. Jungwoo will live to see another day. Chenle and Jisung are free. Mark will survive without him, even if he doesn’t think so, and his brother will make sure he doesn’t spiral down again.

They will all go on to live happy lives. Even if Donghyuck, Renjun, and Yangyang don’t.

“Stay. Awake,” Renjun grits out through his teeth, carefully moving Donghyuck’s head to his lap. Donghyuck wants to tell him to stay down, there is less smoke down here, but he doesn’t have the strength. “Johnny’s gonna get us out of here, I promise.”

Renjun has no leverage to make that kind of promise, but Donghyuck smiles thinly either way.

“It’s been,” Donghyuck croaks out, “an honour. I love you.”

“Fuck off,” Yangyang murmurs. “Don’t do this.”

“Tell Jeno—”

“You can tell him yourself,” Renjun cuts him off. 

Donghyuck would huff if he could.

Sirens blare in the distance. “You hear that?” Yangyang asks. “Help is on the way.”

Good, Donghyuck thinks. They can help Yangyang and Renjun, get them to the hospital before it’s too late. It’s with that comfort that he closes his eyes, giving in to the pain in his chest and the numbness in the rest of his body, a single tear rolling down his cheek before he exhales.

* * *

The paramedic tending to Jaemin was kind enough not to comment on the gasoline staining his clothes, his hands, or his shoes. All she did was guide him to sit on the edge of the ambulance, cleaning the cuts on his face and arms, and then she fetched the oxygen mask from the ambulance. She was kind and her hands were gentle, and for the first time in over a week Jaemin doesn’t feel threatened or wary around a stranger.

He didn’t know how sweet that would feel.

“Hold the mask to your face,” she says to him. “Breathe normally, okay? I have a blanket if you want it.”

Jaemin shakes his head, then thinks better of it and nods. She nods back, climbing back into the ambulance to rummage through their things. Jaemin grips the mask with one hand, trying to steady his breathing as she said. 

On the ambulance to his right, two paramedics are tending to Renjun. In the midst of the tent falling around them and the fire-fighters arriving to put out the fire, there was an explosion – the fire reached farther than they anticipated, going as far as the tent where they kept the engines and the machinery for the shows, and everything went up in flames.

The explosion caused a domino effect and ended with Renjun’s right arm with second degree burns. Jaemin overheard one of the paramedics telling Renjun he will be okay, that at most he will need hydration and aloe to heal, plus medication for the pain. 

Just like Jaemin, Renjun has a mask on his face, although he isn’t the one holding it, the straps around his ears instead to keep it in place while the paramedics work on the smaller burns on his hands.

“Why haven’t they taken us to the hospital yet?” Jaemin asks his paramedic when she returns.

“Mask back on,” she chides, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. “There was a pile up on the road, more workers from the circus trying to get away, so the roads are blocked. The police are clearing a path for us right now, don’t worry.”

Jaemin pulls the blanket tighter around him with his free hand and stands up, thanking her for her help as he gives the mask back and wobbles to Renjun’s side in spite of her protests. He climbs onto the ambulance, not even bothering to greet the paramedics as he takes a seat by Renjun’s gurney. Renjun’s half-aware of his surroundings, blinking slowly while the paramedics take care of his injuries. He tries to sit up when he sees Jaemin, taking off his mask so he can speak.

“Hyuck— where’s Hyuck?” Renjun croaks, struggling against the hands on his shoulders. “Yangyang—”

“Yangyang’s okay,” Jaemin interrupts him softly, guiding him back down on the gurney. “He’s conscious, and he only has mild burns, don’t worry about him.”

“Hyuck?”

Jaemin gulps. He’s about to answer when a familiar voice starts shouting outside, and Jaemin knows they’ll need him more than Renjun does right now. Renjun is high on anaesthesia and on the brink of unconsciousness, so Jaemin makes the executive decision to spare him the news for now. 

“I’ll see you at the hospital, okay? We’ll talk then.”

Renjun doesn’t have the strength to argue, and he’s asleep within seconds. Jaemin sighs, climbing down from the ambulance to meet with Mark.

The police have set up a perimeter around the area, and dozens of people have gathered outside the tape, with cameras, microphones and reporters taking up the majority of the space. There are police officers holding off the crowd, but one person stands out – Mark, hair dishevelled, his face soaked in tears, attempting to break free of the hold the officer has on him as he demands to see Donghyuck.

Jaemin steels his nerves and approaches them, speaking quietly to an officer to let Mark and his companions through. The man isn’t very excited, but Jaemin has been through too much lately to care about what anyone else has to say, so he pulls out the best puppy eyes he can muster.

“Jaemin,” Mark stutters, tongue-tied. “Where’s Hyuck, what happened?”

“We saw the explosion,” Detective Kim adds. He looks harried, as if he’s aged ten years in the span of one night, even though the sun is yet to rise. 

“Are you okay?” Jisung asks worriedly.

“I’m okay,” Jaemin nods. “I inhaled some smoke but I got out of the tent before it collapsed.”

Jaemin shouldn’t have left them behind, he knows, but he didn’t have much of a choice at the time. He should’ve insisted someone else exited first, or at least he should’ve done more to get them out before – before everything else.

“Donghyuck,” Mark demands. “Where’s Donghyuck?”

“He’s…” 

In that moment, the paramedics roll the gurney out from behind the half-fallen tent, a white sheet draped over Donghyuck’s body. Mark’s knees buckle at the sight, muttering incoherencies in Jaemin’s arms. 

“No, no, no, God,” Mark repeats, over and over. “Please, don’t tell me he’s—”

Behind him, Chenle gasps, a hand flying to cover his mouth as he stares in horror, and Jisung closes his eyes altogether. Detective Kim’s face pales as if he will be sick, and the misunderstanding dawns on Jaemin.

“No!” Jaemin shouts, perhaps a little too loudly. “He’s not dead! See? They’re not covering his face or anything.”

They take a second look. In fact, the sheet only covers Donghyuck up to his chest, and there’s an oxygen mask strapped to his face too.

“He’s unconscious,” Jaemin explains. “He inhaled the same smoke we all did, but he almost died before they rescued them, and he hasn’t woken up since.”

“Why?” Chenle murmurs.

Jaemin shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know either. Mark, do you know if he has any past conditions? They asked us but we didn’t know what to say.”

“Not that I know of,” Mark replies. He’s distracted, though, following Donghyuck with his eyes as they roll him into an ambulance. Mark’s gaze returns to Jaemin, and he frowns. “Where’s my brother?”

“With Yangyang, talking to the cops. I don’t think I need to tell you guys to lie?”

Of course not. They already know the story, anyway, and it’s only a matter of the authorities actually believing the load of bullshit they came up with in one afternoon: that they came to the circus as a last minute decision, that they heard the shouting after Chanyeol’s accident and went to check it out, but instead they ended up at the big tent, where the ringmaster seemed to be having an argument with his workers. One thing led to another, and suddenly they smelled smoke. They went inside to help, but were caught in the fire.

Not their best work, but it isn’t as if there is anyone around to deny or contradict it. 

“Hey,” Detective Kim says suddenly, nodding toward the ambulances. “Look.”

Jaemin glances over his shoulder and sees Yangyang hobbling away from his ambulance to Donghyuck’s, climbing inside. Jaemin curses before he heads over there as well, the rest following him. He reaches the ambulance at the same time Detective Suh does, nagging at Yangyang to stop running off whenever he feels like it, and they have front row seats to see Yangyang lay a hand on Donghyuck’s forehead.

A soft shimmer of light later, Donghyuck’s eyes flutter open. He gasps for air, struggling to take the mask off his face. Mark moves quicker than Jaemin can blink, climbing into the ambulance as well to sit next to his best friend and taking Donghyuck’s hand under the blanket.

“If you make me think you’re dead again,” Mark threatens. “I swear, Hyuck, I’m too old to be having these frights so often.”

“Frights,” Donghyuck echoes, a hint of a laugh in his voice. “You sound like such an old man.”

Jaemin sighs in relief. As long as Donghyuck is making jokes, he knows he isn’t dying anytime soon. Detective Suh makes a sound of reprimand, but it ends there. Instead, he pats his partner’s back and asks, “Did you need to shoot anyone?”

“A few clowns and some other people dressed in performance outfits, but only because these two insisted, and they asked me to spare a few others,” he says, pointing to Jisung and Chenle. “One of them still got into a car, but then we heard there was an accident? Might be unrelated, though.”

Detective Suh snorts. Jaemin laughs a little, too, mostly at the absurdity of the situation, and Yangyang gives a half-smile as he finishes his magic on Donghyuck.

“There,” Yangyang says. “I cleared your lungs of most of the smoke, but we still need to go to the hospital so it isn’t suspicious. I’m gonna go check on Renjun, okay?”

“Stop running away,” Detective Suh mutters, chasing after him. 

“Do you think Jeno knows we’re done here?” Jaemin asks no one in particular.

“Kun’s driving him here as we speak,” Detective Kim confirms. “Han Dong stayed with Jungwoo.”

“Jungwoo!” Jisung exclaims, looking at the detective with wide eyes. “How is he? Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s alright,” he replies, reaching out to pat Jisung on the shoulder but thinking better of it at the last second. “The doctors think he’ll wake up today, maybe tomorrow. We’ll take you to see him in a few, okay? Let’s just wait for Jeno to get here.”

Yangyang returns with Renjun tucked under his shoulder. Jaemin notes his ashy complexion, how close to nauseous he looks, and he feels bad that they’re making him move around even after all he’s been through, but he’s glad Renjun is here.

He won’t be fully calm until Jeno, too, is with them, but that’s something Jaemin will have to work on. His current need to have all of them in his line of vision won’t fly over well when they inevitably have to separate to go on with their lives.

Detective Suh rejoins them right after, and he’s pushing Jeno’s wheelchair. The worry in Jeno’s eyes only increases when he sees their state— their tattered clothes, the soot and ashes on them, the bald patches on their eyebrows— but Jaemin sees the exact moment Jeno forces himself to relax.

“Hey,” Jaemin says to him. “How are your knees?”

“Fuck my knees,” Jeno says. “What happened? We saw the explosion from the hospital, I thought—”

“It was close,” Renjun cuts him off. “Your boyfriend is an idiot, by the way, I’d break up with him if I were you.”

Donghyuck throws him a nasty look. Jeno smiles, though, asking Detective Suh to help him out of the wheelchair so he can get into the ambulance with them, and Donghyuck doesn’t waste a second in grabbing his hand. 

"Did anything happen at the hospital?" Detective Kim asks Jeno.

"Um," Jeno's hesitates, glancing at them momentarily before he makes up his mind. "Yeah, there was an incident with the guards. Wendy showed up, but Kun shot her before she could do anything. When the guards came by, I told them she'd hurt me, because I didn't want them to take Kun away, but it turned out that they were under Taeyong's control."

"What did you do?" Mark frowns.

Jeno shrugs. "They locked us in the room and held us at gunpoint, but then I'm guessing you killed Taeyong because suddenly they looked like they had woken up from a dream and had no idea what was happening."

Jaemin sighs in relief. He'd been worried that all those people under Taeyong's control would stay that way after he died, but it doesn't seem like his powers worked like Seulgi's did. 

He wonders what happened to the human workers, if they were able to get away. He imagines those were the ones Jisung and Chenle asked the detective to spare, but there was the car crash. 

Not to mention, they don't know who else escaped the circus. After all, they killed the inner circle, but they weren't the only ones that took part in the kidnappings and the horrors of the circus, and he dreads to think about what would happen if the likes of Baekhyun or Sooyoung survived.

Jaemin knows they will want revenge, for one.

“The police are gonna want to talk to you,” Detective Suh says to them. “Again. And again. With how disastrous this turned out, it wouldn’t surprise me that they try to pin it on us, especially when people start asking why they didn’t help sooner and they don’t have a good explanation.”

“You’ll also have to lie to your parents,” his partner adds, glancing over to the crowd. “They’re over there, and the officers are going to let them through very soon.”

“It’s fine,” Donghyuck shrugs, coughing a little at the end of his sentence. “The worst is over. I think I can go the rest of my life lying about tonight with no problem.”

Jaemin doesn’t know if he can lie for the rest of his life, but he does know one thing: as long as they’re still alive, still kicking and screaming, still together, then he can do anything. 

“Hey,” Kun says, showing up behind the detectives, his hair all over the place from the morning air. “Sorry, an officer was asking me a lot of questions. Are these Jisung and Chenle?”

“Yeah,” Renjun nods. “Guys, this is Kun. He and his wife have been looking after Yangyang for a while.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kun grins at them. “I have room for one more, if you would like. I’m sure Doyoung’s spare room could use a little life, too.”

“You already have one,” Detective Kim grumbles. “They can both stay with me, it’s no problem.”

“Jungwoo?” Chenle asks in a small voice.

Jaemin sighs, understanding. He didn’t think either of them would be on board with separating from each other or from Jungwoo, and he certainly understands. As of this moment, he can’t bear the idea of separating from any of his friends, even if it’s only for a few minutes or hours at a time.

“Jungwoo will be at the hospital for a while,” Detective Suh replies kindly. “I don’t know how long, but it might be months before they release him. Once he’s out, though, he can stay with any of us, and you’re both more than welcome to visit him as often as you want.”

“Can we go see him?” Jisung pleads. 

Kun nods, offering another smile. “Of course, yeah, I’ll drive you. I have to take Jeno back, too.”

Jeno groans in annoyance, gripping Donghyuck’s hand tighter, and Jaemin grins, endeared by the sight. “Do we have to go now?”

“You’re all going,” Detective Kim says pointedly. “I’ll get the paramedics, you all need to be checked out by a doctor, especially you two.” He points at Renjun and Donghyuck.

“See you in a few?” Donghyuck says to Jeno, who nods reluctantly. Smiling, Donghyuck turns his head to look at Mark and asks, “Hey, wanna ride in an ambulance with me?”

“Not funny,” Mark grumbles, though he smiles too.

Jaemin hesitates before stepping out of the ambulance. The sun is rising, finally, and something in his chest loosens at the sight of the first rays of sunlight in the horizon – the night is finally over. They can finally start to move on with their lives. They’re free, they’re safe. 

They’re going to have nightmares for years. Jaemin knows they’re going to be in therapy for who knows how long, and that they still have a long way to go. He has no qualms about that, and he doesn’t have the energy to delude himself into thinking everything will be perfect.

But then he looks at Jeno and Donghyuck grinning dopily, at Renjun fixing a loaned coat around Jisung, at Chenle taking large gulps of water from a bottle that Kun magically procured from nowhere, at Yangyang weaselling a smile out of Mark, at the detectives discussing their stories for their superiors without taking their eyes off of them, and he thinks that maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect.

As long as he has them, it’s enough. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hehe


	13. EPILOGUE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **PTSD, trauma, compulsive self-harm (very very brief), mentions of past child abuse, character death, mentions of past car accident**

The weather in Vrais has been more than a little freaky the past couple of weeks. Winter in their town was always predictable: windy, a little rainy, more so during December and February, colder than usual but still sunny almost every day. 

Yangyang remembers being ten years old, sitting in his bedroom and playing with his toy cars while rain fell outside his window. Sometimes it got too chilly in his house and the only warm room would be the kitchen if the oven was running. His mother would bake all day to keep Yangyang’s fingers from going numb. 

He remembers the cold, but it didn’t bother him, because his mother would rub his hands between hers and kiss his fingertips until he laughed, and then they would have cookies straight from the oven while watching cartoons on their couch, and Yangyang was happy. 

That was before things went downhill in his life. 

The shuttle arrives ten minutes late to the bus station. Yangyang’s cold, shivering in his coat, his hands numb, and he wishes he had gloves. This is new, because Yangyang doesn’t recall ever needing gloves in Vrais. A coat, sure, for the rainy days, maybe a trench coat if it’s particularly stormy, but never gloves.

Yangyang boards the bus and picks the seat further from the other passengers. Aside from him, there are ten other people on board, all scattered throughout the vehicle, save for a woman and a little girl that sit together. The shuttle is warmer than outside but Yangyang still feels cold.

It’s a short ride, and Yangyang spends most of it with his eyes glued to the floor, twiddling his thumbs over his backpack. His breakfast sits heavy in his stomach, scrambled eggs and a slice of toast that Han Dong had to force him to eat before he left the house.

Han Dong is the only person that knows where he’s going. Yangyang went to her two weeks ago, fresh out of his college midterms, and asked to know if it would be possible at all for him to see his parents.

She paused in the middle of riffling through their mail, manicured hands almost dropping a stack of letters addressed to the numerous people living in their home, and she looked at him with an expression Yangyang couldn’t place – surprise, definitely. Worry, perhaps, and a little scared.

“You know they’re in prison, right?” she asked, straight to the point, as she was prone to do. 

“I know,” Yangyang nodded. “And I think I should go visit them.”

Even if she wasn’t happy about it, Han Dong agreed to contact the Vrais Department of Corrections and see about setting up a visit with them. A week later, she was knocking on Yangyang’s bedroom door with all the information he needed written on a piece of paper. 

Yangyang thought about telling someone else – Kun, or Renjun, or Chenle, - but decided against it. He knew Kun would be his usual over-supportive self, and he didn’t think he could handle that; Renjun would insist on going with him, which Yangyang didn’t want; and Chenle would probably ask him if he was sure, and Yangyang didn’t want to answer that.

Han Dong offered to drive him, but he chose to take the shuttle instead. He didn’t want anyone with him, just in case he chickened out, or if he cried – hence, why he didn’t want Renjun with him for this. Yangyang loves Renjun, and he knows he wouldn’t judge him for it, but he has to do this on his own.

The bus pulls up outside the correctional at 9:10 in the morning, just in time for visiting hours. Yangyang inhales deeply before he stands from his seat and follows the others off the bus and into the building, feeling like a fish out of water as he goes through the mandatory procedure before they let him into the room.

Visitations, apparently, take place in a wide, white room, furnished with plastic tables and chairs. Only two doors lead into the room, the one for visitors and the one for the convicts, and both are guarded by men in grey uniforms and guns strapped to their hips. 

Yangyang does his best to keep his eyes from lingering on the guns, but he can’t help it. He’s had enough of those to last him a lifetime, and he doesn’t feel comfortable surrounded by so many.

His mother is already waiting for him on one of the smaller tables, her handcuffed hands laid on the table. She looks ten years older than Yangyang remembers, though he supposes that’s what prison does to a person, and her hair has more white streaks than brown. 

Still, Yangyang would know those eyes anywhere. They’re hardened from age and life, and they aren’t as kind as they were when he was a child, but they’re the same familiar brown he knows.

Yangyang almost turns around and leaves. He stands there, rooted to the spot, watching her from afar until he feels something wet in his hands. He looks down, unclenching his fists, and notes with distaste that he dug his nails into his palms hard enough to cut the skin.

A little blood never hurt anyone, Yangyang thinks to himself. 

“Son, please move,” one of the guards tells him. Yangyang jolts, surprised, and doesn’t realise he’s stepping into the room until he’s halfway to the table and his mother is staring at him.

Han Dong’s breakfast threatens to lurch out of his throat any second now, and Yangyang thinks about how embarrassing it would be to throw up in front of so many people. He also thinks about turning away now. He could wait outside the building, the cold and the rain be damned, and go home. 

Yangyang thinks Han Dong would understand. She would hug him, tell him it’s okay, and then offer him tea. She wouldn’t judge him, just as she hasn’t judged him for anything.

But she told him she was proud of him this morning, and Yangyang doesn’t want to disappoint her.

Yangyang continues walking toward the table where his mother sits, and takes the seat across from her, his hands folded in his lap. She watches him for a long minute, as if she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing, and Yangyang resists the urge to squirm under her gaze.

“Hi, mom,” he says. 

“Yangyang,” she sighs, far more fond than she has the right to be. “Darling, I’ve missed you so much.”

Yangyang doesn’t reply. His nails dig into his palms again, and this time he doesn’t stop even after he starts to bleed. At least the sting is something he can control – it’s grounding, and it reminds him that he’s alive, and it’s his. 

“I heard you came back six months ago,” his mother continues, either unaware of his hostility or choosing to ignore it. “I was disappointed when you didn’t come visit me, but I’m so happy you came today.”

Lips sealed shut, Yangyang only stares back at her. His mother purses her lips, perhaps annoyed at his indifference, but she doesn’t switch tactics. 

“Are you in school? It’s December, you’re probably close to midterms? Or maybe you’re past them, I don’t know,” she chuckles. “College is fun, isn’t it? I loved college, the best years of my life.”

Yangyang tells himself that doesn’t sting. That the fact that his mother doesn’t consider her time with him as her happiest year, and would rather relive a time she didn’t have a child.

“You’ve probably heard, but your father and I are out soon,” she says, and this captures Yangyang’s attention better than anything else she could have said. “Isn’t that exciting? We can be a family again.”

“A family?” he echoes incredulously. “We’re not a family. We haven’t been a family in years.”

“That’s no way of speaking to your mother,” she reprimands him, not that Yangyang cares.

“I only came here because… I don’t know why.” Yangyang shakes his head, hoping it will clear his thoughts. “But I certainly didn’t come here to patch things up with you.”

“Then why did you come here?” she snaps.

Yangyang doesn’t reply. Truth be told, he didn’t come here to see her, to catch up or to mend their relationship. He doesn’t have any need or want for her, other than his truly ridiculous desire of turning back time. 

(Or so he tells himself. His shrink would argue otherwise, but she isn’t here right now.)

And he certainly wants nothing to do with his asshole of a father, who chose to blame all his problems on his son. 

“I came to say goodbye,” he says. “It’s the most you deserve from me. You weren’t exactly mother of the year up until I disappeared, but I do remember – we had our happy occasions, after all. I thought I could give you this much.”

And before she replies, Yangyang stands up and leaves the visitation room. 

He’s the first one on the shuttle bus back to town, and he’s the first one off, too. During the ride back, he stares out the window and selfishly wishes he could do that thing Donghyuck does when he’s overwhelmed, that thing where he stares off into space and the hours pass by him without him realising.

Yangyang’s doctor says it’s called dissociation, and she says it isn’t a healthy coping mechanism, but Yangyang thinks it’s better than being fully aware of everything wrong with him all the time. 

If he could simply leave his body and his mind behind, just for a few hours, then Yangyang is convinced he would deal with everything else much better. As it is, he’s always on the edge of snapping someone’s head off. It scares him. 

Yangyang walks the path back home with his head hanging low, aware of the storm raging around him and uncaring. It isn’t until he’s standing outside their door that the reality of things crashes down on him and he drops his keys into a puddle of water. 

Chenle finds him like that, sometime later. Yangyang doesn’t know how long he stands there, shivering from the cold and drenched to the bone, but he suspects it must be a good while. Chenle makes a noise of surprise before ushering him inside, helping him discard his layers of clothes in the foyer and guiding him to the living room.

“What happened to you?” Chenle exclaims, concern seeping into his otherwise nagging voice. “Why didn’t you bring an umbrella with you?”

“Wasn’t raining when I left,” Yangyang mumbles, flopping down on the couch. He will worry about the water tracks he left behind some other time. 

Chenle instructs him to sit still, rushing to the linen’s closet to find a large towel, and then dries him off while Yangyang shakes, his teeth chattering. Chenle mutters about being careful the next time even as he towels his hair dry, rubbing the towel around Yangyang’s neck and his shoulders.

“Are you gonna tell me?” Chenle asks softly. “It’s okay if you don’t, but…”

Yangyang doesn’t know if he will, so he stays mum. Chenle nods and continues to run the towel over Yangyang, patting his face gently to dry off his cheeks and forehead. 

And as is his luck, Kun comes home from buying groceries, Han Dong and— of course — Jaemin in tow. As Chenle, they ask him what happened, why didn’t he bring an umbrella, why didn’t he wait until it cleared, along with too many questions Yangyang doesn’t feel like answering.

The only thing he does is rush to Han Dong and smother her in a hug, uncaring that he’s still dripping water and undoubtedly got her wet, and she doesn’t waste a second to hug him back, understanding as she always is.

Yangyang adores her, and he wishes he could tell her. That he could tell Kun that he loves him, too, even after they’ve been saying so to him for two months. They’ve been treating him like their own from the moment they met him, and Yangyang wishes he could thank them, that he could give back to them.

Alas, this is the best he can do for now.

“Go shower,” Han Dong prompts him after he lets her go, patting his cheek. “We’ll get lunch started.”

So Yangyang does, taking Jaemin’s hand in a silent request that he will accompany him. Yangyang showers quickly, mostly to wash off the rain from his hair rather than to clean up, and when he exits the bathroom he finds Jaemin waiting for him on the edge of his bed, playing with a cufflink on his shirt.

Yangyang thanks the heavens he dressed in the bathroom.

“You wanna talk about it?” Jaemin asks him, automatically opening his arms to welcome Yangyang when he approaches.

Yangyang stands between Jaemin’s spread legs and thinks about it for a second. While it’s true that speaking to them is infinitely easier than it is to speak to anyone else, he doesn’t know if this is something he can share just yet.

“Maybe,” Yangyang replies, dusting off invisible lint from Jaemin’s shoulder. “Not now. How was your trip home?”

“Boring,” Jaemin scoffs. “I don’t think I’ll stay at that school. Jeno said the college here was far better.”

Yangyang perks up, smiling at the implications. “You’re moving back?”

“Yeah,” Jaemin grins, nodding. “I hate being away from you guys, and it isn’t as if people were lining up to be friends with the mysterious kid.”

“The mysterious kid?”

“What, you thought our fame was limited to the wonderful town of Vrais? Everyone knows about it,” Jaemin rolls his eyes. “Nah, I like it better here.”

Yangyang knows there are other reasons besides him for Jaemin to want to stay in Vrais, but he chooses to ignore those for the time being. His grin widens, and he says, “Donghyuck is going to piss himself when he hears you’re staying in town.”

* * *

If there’s a downside to working dispatch, it’s the sheer amount of stress he feels whenever anything bigger than a parking ticket comes through the radio.

And to Jeno’s absolute chagrin, the past week has been the worst week he’s had since he started to work here. The rains have caused more accidents in a week than there have been in the history of Vrais. 

The station’s dog spends the entire night lying at his feet, at least, keeping him company. She’s a stray dog with coffee brown fur and the sweetest black eyes, and she perks up if Jeno so much as shifts his hands, hoping for pats. Jeno loves it when she stays with him, and seriously considers asking if he could adopt her for himself— a therapy dog and whatnot. 

Usually, work passes by slowly but it’s bearable. The officers on the night shift warmed up to Jeno after the first few shifts, so Jeno doesn’t feel necessarily lonely even during the slowest nights, but it’s still a little boring. Vrais is such a small town that there can be hours at a time when not a single call comes through.

Tonight, Jeno spends the whole shift with one eye on the clock, and his leg bounces so much that even the dog avoids napping under his desk. Jeno can’t help it if his excitement gets the better of him, though.

“Only one more hour to go,” Johnny says as he walks past his desk with a piping hot coffee in hand. “Are you excited?”

“Yeah,” Jeno admits, grinning a little. “Renjun said it won’t be raining at all today, so we should be good to go.”

“Okay, well,” Johnny laughs, ruffling his hair, “Don’t stay out too late, alright? I got you tomorrow night off but I still don’t want any of you wandering around after dark.”

“We’ll be fine, John. We’re probably gonna go to Jaemin’s in the evening, anyway.”

“I’m holding you to that,” Johnny calls out, already on his way back to his desk.

Jeno sighs, looking at the clock again. Forty-five minutes until his shift is up and Mark is picking him up outside the station.

As long as the night felt, the final hour goes by in a breeze, and before he knows it, he’s clocking out at the front desk. The dog follows him to the front steps, wagging her tail while watching him go, and Jeno makes a mental note to buy her a chew toy.

Mark’s car is a little beat up, though that’s to be expected from a hand-me-down that belonged to his father years ago. Still, Mark treats it like it’s his baby.

“Hey,” Mark greets him, “How was work?”

“Fine,” Jeno shrugs, about to climb into the passenger seat when he notices the flowers, and he coos teasingly. “Aw, are those for me?”

“Shut up,” Mark grumbles. Jeno laughs at his annoyance, picking up the flowers to set them on his lap once he’s sitting inside the car. “They’re for him, asshole. I didn’t think it would be nice to show up empty-handed.”

Jeno agrees. He caresses a petal between his fingers and thinks Jungwoo will like them. 

They don’t talk during most of the car ride. It’s perfectly sunny today, just as Renjun had promised, and the sun beats down on Jeno’s back as he climbs the hill, Mark at his side.

Jungwoo’s tombstone doesn’t have much information. For starters, they never knew his last name, or his date of birth – they didn’t know anything about him, if Jeno were to be honest. When they buried him, the people in charge asked for a last name, and no one knew what to say.

Eventually, they settled for skipping such formalities, so his tombstone reads his first name, his date of death, and the words ‘Beloved friend’ engraved beneath them. It isn’t as if it matters much in the grand scheme of things, Jeno thinks. 

Mark helps with switching the flowers in the vase, taking the withering ones to lay them on the grass and throwing out the rain water before he replaces it with clean water from a bottle. Jeno places the flowers, making sure they’re pretty before he puts the vase back where it belongs.

“You wanna be alone?” Mark asks, hands in his pockets. 

Jeno shakes his head. He doesn’t like being alone, ever, and Jungwoo liked Mark – he would want him here. Mark kneels down next to him and waits silently while Jeno does his thing, and he doesn’t complain when Jeno cries on his shoulder, holding him sideways with one arm.

Jungwoo should be going to the beach with them, Jeno. He should be going to physical therapy with them, and he should be getting ready to go back to school like Jisung and Chenle. 

He should be alive with them. 

Jeno knows this isn’t anyone’s fault but the circus. Even if Yangyang wants to beat himself over it, there was nothing he could have done. Jungwoo fell into a coma on a Saturday night, a week after the fire, and he was never going to wake up again. 

And he knows Jungwoo suffered a lot. The doctors kept him high on morphine, but even then, they could tell that Jungwoo was in severe pain. He would wake up for a few seconds at a time, only for the doctors to medicate him again to keep the pain at bay.

Yangyang knew the extent of his injuries. On the third night since they took Jungwoo to the hospital, Yangyang had roused Jeno from his sleep with teary eyes and a concerned frown, whispering that he couldn’t keep this to himself. 

“What is it?” Jeno croaked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“It’s Jungwoo,” Yangyang replied. 

Immediately, Jeno’s eyes travelled to Jungwoo’s unconscious form, searching for any signs of danger. Other than the three of them, there was no one else in the room. Outside their door, two officers, friends of Johnny, were keeping guard until the morning, when the detective himself would take over.

“He’s in so much pain,” Yangyang continued. “I checked on him and it’s— fuck, Jeno, you have no idea. It’s like he’s dead already.”

Jeno didn’t understand what Yangyang was talking about. He’d talked to Jungwoo earlier, before he went to sleep, and Yangyang assured him that the older boy could hear him.

“But, you said…” Jeno trails off.

Yangyang nods, wiping a stray tear from his cheek “Yeah, he could hear us. But that’s changed, and now it’s like— they’re just keeping the husk alive, not him.”

By then, Jeno could see where Yangyang was headed with his line of thought.

“His heart can’t keep up anymore,” Yangyang said. “He can’t breathe on his own. I don’t think he’ll ever wake up.”

Jeno’s heart sunk to his stomach, but he didn’t cry. He merely grasped Yangyang’s hand and promised to stay by his side, regardless of what he decided to do. 

That night, Jungwoo’s heart stopped, and there was nothing the doctors could do to bring him back. Yangyang cried, sobs that wrecked his entire body and wouldn’t let him breathe, and eventually a nurse had to slip him something that made him sleepy.

When the others arrived, less than two hours later in varying degrees of dress and consciousness, Jeno allowed the doctors to explain what had happened while he held a sleeping Yangyang. 

He didn’t think anyone suspected anything. He counted that as a small miracle.

Jeno wipes his cheeks with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffs, thanking Mark quietly for keeping him company. Before they leave, he caresses the top of Jungwoo’s grave, murmuring a goodbye through trembling lips. By the time they pull up outside the diner, Jeno’s face is dry and his chest is loose.

“There’s a special for waffles,” Jeno points at the corkboard behind the counter. “Two for one, that sounds good.”

“Cool,” Mark nods, signalling for the guy working the register. They suppress a grin when he comes by, even after he rolls his eyes at their presence.

“What are you having?” Renjun grumbles. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to talk to your customers like that,” Jeno teases. “Do you, Mark?”

“Nope,” Mark shakes his head. 

Renjun glares at them. “Shut up. I heard waffles, you want the special?”

“Please,” Jeno says, deciding not to continue messing with him. “How long until you’re off your shift?”

“Not long,” Renjun mumbles, writing down their order on his notepad before slipping the paper to the cook. “Half an hour, I guess.”

“We’ll wait for you,” Mark suggests, climbing onto the stool. “We can drive you to your place so you can grab your stuff.”

Renjun thanks them quietly before scurrying off to the other end of the counter, where a lady is waiting to place her order. Jeno settles on the stool next to Mark, reaching for the cinnamon shaker to pass the time. `

“Hey,” Mark says, casual if it weren’t because Jeno knows him too well by now for him to fool him. “Do you think you’ll get in the water?”

Jeno suppresses an eye roll. “You sound just like Donghyuck. And no, I don’t have any plans on touching the water, thanks.”

Mark nods, dropping the subject. After months of living together, Mark knows him as well as Jeno knows him— that is, a little too much for comfort. Therefore, it wasn’t surprising when Mark approached him one late night and asked if Jeno was scared of water.

Jeno didn’t offer much explanation other than a shake of his head and an absent, “I like water just fine.” Donghyuck asked him once, too, and Jeno gave him the same answer. 

Breakfast is a quiet thing. Renjun serves them their waffles (with extra toppings, as a treat for them as long as they quit teasing him over his new job) and then disappears into the back room to change into his street clothes. Jeno eats with gusto, glad that he’s eating something other than police station coffee and a hard bagel.

They eat quickly, partly because Jeno was starving, and partly because they don’t want to waste time. This will be their first hangout all together in a long time, and Jeno’s jittery with excitement.

When Renjun returns, he has a beanie pulled low over his forehead and he’s wearing his jeans splattered with paint, something he’s been doing more often since everything was over. At first, Renjun started to paint again because his doctor advised him to, but then he remembered how much he liked it and painted as much as he could.

Now, Jeno has three paintings taped to his wall courtesy of Renjun, and Mark’s side of the room is much the same. Although, Jeno has noticed, Mark features more gifts from Renjun than he does.

“Ready to go?” Mark asks Renjun, wiping the corner of his mouth with a napkin. 

“Yeah,” Renjun nods. “It’s just five minutes to my place. I left everything ready in the living room.”

It’s a quick trip to Renjun’s apartment complex, and true to his words, he’s in and out within minutes, a beach bag slung over his shoulder. He’s also brandishing a bottle of sunscreen in his hands like a shield. 

“You,” he says pointedly to Mark as he slides into the backseat, “have the most delicate skin I’ve ever seen. I’m covering you in sunscreen until you turn into Casper the friendly ghost, got it?”

Mark nods, smiling, and starts driving in the direction of Donghyuck’s place. Jeno would tease them if he didn’t know how easily flustered Mark can get, so he keeps the words to himself, or at least until he has Yangyang for backup. 

Donghyuck’s waiting for them on the curb, playing on his phone while his little siblings play on the front yard. Jeno notices the new hair colour right around the time Renjun does, because he whistles and pokes his head through the open window, saying, “Looking good, Lee.”

Donghyuck’s answering smirk is endearing enough not to be conceited, and Jeno feels the urge to cover his face in kisses. Not that he’s going to do that in front of Donghyuck’s siblings – or Mark and Renjun, for that matter.

“I can’t believe your mom let you dye your hair,” Mark snorts. Donghyuck smacks him upside the head when he’s finally in the car, but Mark only laughs in response.

“Do you think we could stop by a store on the way and buy one of those giant floating thingies?” Donghyuck says, choosing to ignore his best friend’s remarks. “I kinda wanna see Jaemin flail around on a giant banana.”

“Good luck getting him in the water,” Jeno says, glancing over his shoulder. “He told me he plans on working on his tan or some shit like that.”

“Boring,” Donghyuck boos. It’s followed by a grin he reserves for Jeno, and it makes Jeno’s face go up in flames.

Renjun makes a retching sound. “Get a room.”

Donghyuck turns his attention back to Renjun, and Jeno knows what he’s going to say before the words leave his mouth, his face reddening in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, Jaemin’s place has plenty of those.”

Renjun fake-gags, which makes Donghyuck cackle in delight. Mark grimaces, muttering a, “Gross, Hyuck,” and Jeno can’t help that he laughs along with his boyfriend.

“You started it!” Donghyuck says cheerfully to Renjun. 

“I regret bringing you on this trip,” Renjun mutters. 

* * *

Donghyuck breathes in the salty air of the beach and smiles. 

It’s been entirely too long since he came to the beach. The last time, it was the summer of last year, and he’d gone to a beach upstate with his family. He remembers his sister deciding to tan for the first time in her life, lathering her arms, legs and abdomen in orangey oil until she looked like a cartoon character; his brothers racing each other to the shore to spend hours in the sparkly water. 

Donghyuck himself spent half the trip lounging on a beach chair, texting Mark about the random people around him and commiserating with him on his mandatory college prep he couldn’t weasel out of, only to join his youngest brother in his scavenger hunt for seashells later.

This time, there are no siblings, which bums Donghyuck out, if only a little. He’s here with his friends, a part celebration for Jaemin’s decision to stay in Vrais rather than abandon them for the big city, and part celebration for their return to education, even if Donghyuck feels mentally drained from his first semester in college. And it isn’t even over yet, Donghyuck groans mentally. 

“Should we set up?” Mark asks, carrying the three different floating animals they bought in his arms. 

“Let’s just dump our stuff with theirs,” Renjun says, walking up to them. “It looks like Jaemin already set up camp.”

The others arrived minutes earlier than they did, according to Yangyang’s texts. Donghyuck had seen Jaemin’s new car parked along the road when they pulled in, and even from a distance, Donghyuck hears Yangyang’s delighted shouts as he drags Chenle into the water with him. 

“Is that Jisung?” Mark asks, squinting to see under the harsh sunlight. “Did they bury him in sand?”

Upon further approach, Jisung is, indeed, buried in the sand, save for his head and his toes. He has a pair of sunglasses perched on his nose, so it’s hard to tell if he’s awake or asleep. Donghyuck crouches to his side, smiling, and pokes Jisung’s nose in greeting.

“Hey, there,” Donghyuck says. Jisung twitches his nose but otherwise doesn’t acknowledge him. “Who did this to you?”

“Jaemin,” Jisung replies. “I made the mistake of dozing off and woke up like this. I can’t move.”

Donghyuck snorts, patting the sand covering Jisung’s chest. “That’s solid, alright. Need a hand?”

“Nah, I kinda like it here. It’s like a blanket.”

Choosing not to dwell on that, Donghyuck stands up and walks away with a promise of finding him a drink. A little ways away, Mark and Renjun set up a few foldable chairs before ditching their clothes in favour of running toward the water, and Jaemin’s lounging on a beach chair with tanning lotion covering every inch of skin. 

“You look like a carrot,” Donghyuck says in lieu of a greeting. 

“Donghyuck, it’s been almost two months since the sun properly shone around here. Let me tan in peace.”

Donghyuck’s ready to retort, but Jeno grabs his wrist and shakes his head. The boy is always concerned that Donghyuck and Jaemin’s bickering will end in an actual fight, and Donghyuck’s sweet enough on him to relent whenever he steps in. 

“I brought you a floating duck,” Donghyuck says instead, grinning at Jaemin’s bewildered expression. “So you can join us without losing all your tanning lotion in the process.”

Jaemin smiles, genuine, and promises to go in after the initial half hour. Donghyuck will count that as a win, and turns his attention onto Jeno.

“I’m not going in,” Jeno says right away, backing away. “I’ll just stay here with Jisung. You know, since he can’t move and all that.”

Donghyuck knows to pick his battles, so he pecks Jeno’s cheeks before he fetches a drink from the cooler by Jaemin’s side, putting a straw through the plastic cover and placing it to Jisung’s right.

“Can you reach the straw?” he asks. Jisung turns his head, puckering his lips until he finds the straw, and his cheeks puff up as he takes a large gulp. “Okay, I’m going now. Keep my baby company, will you?”

“Who? Jaemin?”

Jisung receives a face full of sand for that.

Donghyuck isn’t sure at which point, exactly, he notices Jeno’s staring. He’s in the middle of splashing Yangyang with water until his arms grow tired, Yangyang screaming and sputtering as he tries to retaliate, when Renjun paddles to his side and says, “Jeno’s looking at you.”

Donghyuck glances to the shore, where a now-tanned Jaemin is digging Jisung out of the sand while Jeno sits next to them. He shakes his head. 

“He isn’t looking at me,” Donghyuck says. “I think he wants to come into the water.”

“Oh.” Renjun thinks for a second, his feet kicking lightly at Donghyuck’s calves as he tries to stay afloat. “Why doesn’t he?”

Donghyuck shrugs, truly lost. Jeno hasn’t told him why he doesn’t like water, and he isn’t going to pry – they all share so much as it is, he thinks Jeno deserves some privacy, some secrets to keep to himself. 

“Okay, well, I’m gonna go drown Mark for trying to tickle me earlier,” Renjun says, swimming away. Donghyuck returns his attention to Yangyang, who now has a grinning Chenle on his side. He barely has a second to think about how fucked he is before an avalanche of water comes his way.

After lunch — an assortment of sandwiches courtesy of Mark’s mom, and far too many snacks they hoarded for days before coming here — Donghyuck sits on the sand with Jeno and watches the tide. They chose this particular spot because they know people don’t come here very often, and Donghyuck relishes in the privacy. 

Here, they don’t have to hide their scars. Donghyuck had discarded his shirt hours ago, and the scars on his chest, arms, and neck are on full view. No one other than the boys with him has seen them, aside from the doctors that tended to them, and while Donghyuck isn’t… he’s not proud of them, but he doesn’t exactly hate them. At the very least, he can handle being shirtless around them without losing his ability to breathe.

They don’t all share the same sentiment. Renjun had Yangyang heal them as soon as he could, uncaring about the possibility of anyone asking questions, as did Jaemin. Yangyang healed most of his own scars, save for a few that people had seen before. Chenle and Jisung both sport old and new scars, claiming they’re so used to them, it would be weird not to have them anymore.

Jeno still has his scars. He hides them under baggy shirts and sweaters, and today Donghyuck spots a few on his legs that his swim trunks can’t cover. 

As they sit there, listening to Yangyang loudly coo at Jaemin’s failed attempts to crack open a coconut, Jeno pulls his knees to his chest, circles them with his arms, and says, “Hyuck. Later, will you— I mean, can you—”

He isn’t looking at Donghyuck, his gaze trained on the water. Donghyuck frowns for a second before the realisation dawns on him and he nods, reaching out to cover Jeno’s knee with his hand. 

“Yeah, sure, Jen.”

Jeno only works up the courage after another hour. Jisung is in the water with Mark, learning how to swim with two orange lifesavers wrapped around his arms, and Renjun’s cheering him on from a giant donut. Yangyang and Jaemin disappeared a while back, setting on a bet to see who finds more seashells than the other, and Chenle’s napping on a chair.

“I think,” Jeno says. “Now, maybe?”

“Okay,” Donghyuck nods, getting to his feet.

It proves to be a harder job than Donghyuck originally thought. Jeno is petrified, unable to take more than two steps at a time as he stares at the water ahead of him as if it were about to open up and swallow him whole. Donghyuck gnaws on his bottom lip and stops, halfway to the shore.

“Close your eyes.” He waits until Jeno has done so, even if he throws him an incredulous look beforehand. Donghyuck stands in front of him, grabbing both of Jeno’s hands in his own, and says, “Follow me, okay? Don’t think about anything else, just focus on my hands.”

Donghyuck begins to walk backward, rubbing his thumb along the back of Jeno’s hand. It’s slow progress, because even with his eyes closed Jeno can’t seem to stop thinking about what lies ahead, but eventually Donghyuck feels the waves lapping at their feet.

Jeno makes a sound of surprise at the first touch of the water, but he keeps his eyes closed. They move further into the water, until the waves reach their knees. There, Jeno freezes, unable to keep going.

“Enough?” Donghyuck asks. Jeno nods rapidly, jaw clenched tight. “Okay. This is good, Jen. This is really good. I’m proud of you.”

He hopes the statement eases Jeno’s nerves, even if just a little. 

“I,” Jeno falters, tightening his grip. “It isn’t that I’m scared of water.”

Donghyuck doesn’t reply. He sees how much Jeno is struggling to get the words out of his mouth, and he doesn’t want to spook him. 

“I like water,” Jeno continues. “And pools. Pools are cool.”

“You don’t have to….” Donghyuck trails off. 

Jeno shakes his head firmly, however, treading closer. They hear Mark cheer for Jisung once he manages to swim on his own (with lifesavers on, of course). 

“I’ve never told anyone this before,” Jeno says. “People know about it, but not from me.”

A beat later, Jeno blinks his eyes open. He’s ghostly pale under his tan, his bottom lip bitten raw from the nerves. 

“My parents… It happened after a trip to the beach. We were on our way back home. It was a truck.”

Donghyuck doesn’t know what to say. He feels as if he should offer a response, even if Jeno doesn’t seem to be expecting anything from him. 

“I’m sorry,” Donghyuck whispers. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. It… It kind of feels good, to say it aloud,” Jeno says, laughing in amazement. “I’ve never told anyone before.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Donghyuck says.

Jeno grins slightly. “Thanks for listening. And for dragging me out here.”

“I didn’t drag you anywhere.” 

“Yeah, you kinda did.”

Donghyuck scowls, playing along. The easy banter has Jeno loosening up, to the point he’s the one leading them deeper into the water. He doesn’t fail to notice how his entire body loses its tension, as well, and Donghyuck counts that as a win. 

“Whatever, you’re enjoying this, anyway.”

Jeno smiles at him, his eyes crinkling under its force. “I guess.”

* * *

There is a strip of stores along the beach that sells, among other things, beach supplies. Most of them are tourist bait, full of souvenirs and themed products (coffee mugs with the Vrais mountains stamped on the side, t-shirts with the town’s welcoming sign, among others) but it’s also off season, so most of these shops are closed. 

Going to a supermarket is out of the question. They all do their best to avoid big crowds, opting instead for online shopping and take-out meals (they even choose the classes with the worst times to ensure the rooms won’t be full). There are only two supermarkets in town, both of which are always filled to the brim.

They drive to a convenience store instead, with Jaemin taking the wheel. Yangyang sits on the passenger’s seat and Jisung and Chenle are on the backseat, eating the last bag of chips they had. Hence, the trip to the convenience store. Well, that, and that they all want to buy stuff for their ‘slumber party’.

(Yangyang insists on calling it so, and Jaemin won’t argue with him on it.)

“Do you think we could get ice cream?” Chenle asks, licking his index finger clean. 

“Sure,” Yangyang nods. “What flavour?”

Jaemin suppresses a grin. Ever since Jisung had offhandedly mentioned how he and Chenle would sometimes fantasise about eating certain things, Yangyang has been bending over backwards to please any hankering or case of the munchies they encountered. Jaemin doesn’t think either of them realises it, though, and so far they don’t seem to be taking advantage of it.

Still, it’s cute how Yangyang’s already whipping out his wallet to buy Chenle any kind of ice cream he wants, and asking if Jisung likes chocolate chip ice cream to buy some for him as well. 

“Okay, what are we here to buy?” Jaemin asks. 

They walk into the convenience store a little after five o’clock, the sun still on the sky. It’s cold inside the establishment, especially against their heated skins, and Jaemin sees Jeno make a beeline for the fridges at the back of the shop to buy something to drink.

“We said we could cook something on our own,” Renjun hums, bending down to grab a bag of rye bread. “How about burgers? Or sandwiches?”

“Sandwiches?” Donghyuck echoes, wrinkling his nose.

Mark laughs at his expression, saying, “Hyuck, just because you add cheese and ham to your bread and call it a day, it doesn’t mean everyone does.”

“Exactly, thank you, Mark,” Renjun exclaims. “Anyway, if we buy some chicken, we could make a mean sub.”

Jaemin sees Donghyuck physically hold back from making a comment, and pats him on the back. “Come on, let’s buy you some chocolate bunnies.”

It’s only after they’re huddled around a rack selling all sorts of gummy bears and salty chips that Jaemin feels the eyes on his back. 

“Am I crazy,” he murmurs to Donghyuck, “Or there are people staring at us?”

“You’re not crazy. Some kids by the counter have been looking at us since we walked in.”

The tips of Jaemin’s ears burn crimson. He hates having eyes on him, regardless of how conspicuous people think they are being. Sometimes, they’re obvious about it, not bothering to hide their gossiping with their friends, and other times they avoid his eyes when he glances their way, but it doesn’t slip his attention. 

“Let’s just move,” Jaemin says, grabbing the first two bags of gummy bears he sees and dumping them on his basket. “I want to go home.”

Chenle comes bounding their way as they return to the group, his newly acquired phone in hand. Kun and Han Dong, as well as Doyoung, hesitated to buy them a phone, at first. Chenle and Jisung were taken when they were so young, they never experienced having a phone, not even a flip phone. After multiple conferences among the three of them, the consensus was to buy them old generation Android phones.

Jaemin smiles as Chenle stumbles through unlocking the screen, hesitating before he finally taps on the messaging app. 

“Han Dong sent me a recipe for these,” he says, showing them a photo. “They look good, right?”

“That’s a lot of avocado,” Donghyuck says in awe. “Sign me up.”

Jaemin snorts. “Okay, I think I have most of those things at home,” he says, angling the phone to take a better look at the photo. “We just need to buy some ranch sauce, and, uh–”

“Excuse me, sir, what’s that on your neck?”

Jaemin glances down. Three little kids approached them without them noticing, standing around waist level next to Jaemin. Their eyes are unapologetically glued to a burn mark on Chenle’s neck.

It’s an injury that Jaemin never noticed before. He only ever found out it was there a month after the ordeal, right before he was set to leave for college. It’s red and large, shaped like a hand. There is no question as to who caused it. 

Chenle’s own hand comes up to cover it on instinct, but his hand isn’t large enough to cover all of it. His expression falls, his previously cheery disposition replaced with a frown that pulls his entire face down, and Jaemin hates it. 

Jaemin takes another look at the kids. They’re young enough to have no brain to mouth filter, which would explain their questioning, but old enough to be out and about on their own. 

Good. If their parents were here, Jaemin wouldn’t be able to give them the meanest look in his repertoire before saying, “Fuck off, that’s none of your business.”

Without waiting for them to react, he grabs Chenle’s forearm and drags him away. Jeno doesn’t mention it when they join him, though he wraps an arm around Chenle’s shoulder and directs his attention elsewhere.

Five minutes later, Jaemin’s still fuming. The kids are long gone, and the others, while they certainly overheard the exchange, won’t talk about it. Save for Yangyang, who approaches him before they leave the store with his arms crossed.

“What was that?”

“What was what?” Jaemin grumbles. Still, he doesn’t meet his eyes.

“That. You just yelled at a couple of kids.”

“They were being rude.”

Yangyang rolls his eyes. “They’re kids, Jaem. Kids are rude, that’s what they do.”

Jaemin scowls, grabbing the last plastic bag off the conveyor belt before stepping out of the store. Yangyang’s hot on his heels, carrying his own set of bags with fiery determination burning in his eyes.

“Seriously,” he says, earnest as he locks eyes with Jaemin. “What’s wrong?”

“They were upsetting Chenle,” Jaemin replies. 

“Yes, but that’s not all of it. You’re upset, too.”

Both cars are loaded and ready to go. Mark’s already sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, Renjun next to him while Donghyuck and Jeno load their bags in the trunk. Chenle and Jisung climbed into Jaemin’s car minutes ago, right after they dumped their ice cream wrappers in the trash.

There’s no one around to hear what Jaemin has to say but Yangyang.

“I’ve had that,” he starts, faltering for a second. “I’ve had that happen to me. Random people just… waltz up to me to ask about my scars. At college, everyone knows about what happened. Every time I think I made a nice friendship, they start asking questions and prodding and—”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. It pisses him off to no end, but that’s not all. It scares him, if he’s being honest, because he thinks no one will ever want to talk to him for him, and will only be interested in the circus. 

Even after everything that’s happened, he’s still trapped in the circus, in the shadow of their horrors. It’s as if he will never escape it.

Jaemin shakes his head, shuffling the bags around on the trunk of his car until he’s made room for the things in his hands. He closes the trunk and shuffles back, ready to get in the car and forget this conversation ever happened, but Yangyang grabs his hand before he can get away.

“That happens to me, too,” Yangyang admits quietly. “I also have classmates that walk around eggshells with me, as if they think that anything they say or do will make me— I don’t know, cry, or something.”

Jaemin chortles softly. It isn’t Yangyang’s experience or their fucked up situation, but rather Yangyang’s tone that makes him laugh. He knows that, if all else fails, he can always count on Yangyang to lighten up his mood. 

“I know it sucks,” Yangyang continues, sobering up. “And I wish people would stop treating us like we’re broken, or like we’re animals at a zoo, or whatever metaphor you feel like using. And I know that it’s mostly out of our hands, the way people look at us.

“But what we can control is how we deal with it. I’m not saying you have to let it go right away or pretend like it doesn’t affect you, but… I’m just saying, the next time something like this happens, find me. Come over to our place, or call me, or visit my dreams, it doesn’t matter.”

Tears brim in Jaemin’s eyes. He blinks them back, feeling warmth surge up his arm as Yangyang rubs his knuckles with a small grin playing at his lips.

“We’ve been through so much together, I think it’s safe to say I can be your shoulder to cry on, if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Jaemin replies through parched lips, though it’s hard to tell if it’s because of the salty water of the ocean or his constant lip biting. “And, you know that if you, if you ever…”

“I know,” Yangyang grins. “I mean, your Xbox is already my emotional support, but.”

Jaemin laughs. Yangyang laughs along with him, and then suggests they get going. When Jaemin gets back behind the wheel, it’s with a lighter heart. 

* * *

Renjun watches his friends stumble around the kitchen, undoubtedly terrified. 

He’s seen Donghyuck spill olive oil over the counter twice. Jisung cut his finger on a chopping knife. Jaemin doesn’t know where half of the things they need are, and it’s his own kitchen. Yangyang reads the instructions Han Dong sent aloud, perched on a high stool with a chef’s hat on his head. 

Chenle opted out of the cooking, as did Jeno and Mark. Renjun stares at the disaster for another minute before he steps in, waving his hands in the air to stop Donghyuck from destroying the chicken any further.

“Hyuck, you’re supposed to use the fork to shred the chicken breast,” he says, taking the utensils from him. He demonstrates the proper way, scratching at the piece of chicken on the board with the fork until small bits start to fall apart. “See? This way, we can mix it with the salad and then put it in the sandwich.”

“Huh,” Donghyuck mumbles. “Thanks, Injun.”

Renjun smiles at the nickname. They’ve been using it more and more as of late, and he doesn’t have it in his heart to protest. 

Turning back to the others, he points at Jisung and says, “You. Stop whatever you’re doing and hand me the knife.”

Jisung doesn’t have to hear that twice. Renjun takes over the vegetables for him, showing him how to chop the carrots evenly before he moves on to the onions. Jisung is a quick learner, though, and soon Renjun relinquishes the job back to him.

“When’s Xuxi gonna be here?” Chenle asks. 

“Uh, he’s in town already,” Renjun mumbles, measuring out a cup of sauce for the salad. “He went to his mom’s first, he’ll be here soon.”

Renjun distracts himself with the cooking, slapping Jeno’s hand away from the chips but not Chenle’s — never Chenle’s, or Jisung’s. Renjun would rather cut off his own hand than deny those two of anything.

Mark eventually volunteers to help, but only after everything’s cooked and all they need to do is serve the food. He and Jeno make two separate trips to the living room, carrying everything to the coffee table, while Renjun stays behind to clean up a little before eating.

“Hey,” Mark says, sidling up to his side. “You got something there, on your chin.”

Renjun dabs at his chin absentmindedly, too preoccupied with the stain of soy sauce they left behind on the marble countertops. He swears, Jaemin’s food processor is more expensive than his entire wardrobe, and he dreads ruining anything. 

Mark laughs, reaching up to swipe at the other side of Renjun’s face with his thumb. It comes away smeared in ketchup, which he runs under the tab to clean. Renjun shoves away every thought of Mark’s touch burning him from the inside out and instead throws the dirty paper towel into the wastebasket.

“Thanks,” he mutters, squirreling past him. It irks him to hear Mark laugh at his reaction, but he doesn’t dwell on it.

They cooked entirely too much for a group of nine people. Then again, they’re young men with the appetites of a herd of lions, so maybe Renjun is underestimating it. He sits next to Jisung, who’s watching Donghyuck demolish an entire avocado on his own with fascination, and offers the young boy a packet of crackers. 

“For the tuna salad,” Renjun elaborates, pointing at the plate on Jisung’s lap. “It tastes better with crackers, in my opinion.”

“Thanks,” Jisung says, grinning softly. 

“Here,” Donghyuck says, spooning avocado into Jisung’s food. “Try it.”

They still have more than half of the food to go through when Yukhei arrives, bearing cake. 

“Oh, my God,” Renjun groans as he opens the door. “You’re gonna have to carry me out of this house in the morning.”

“That’s fine,” Yukhei grins, shoving the box into Renjun’s hand and stepping into the house. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t make a comment about the size or the ostentatiousness of the Na manor, merely following the noise to the living room. Renjun follows at a slower pace, dreading the moment they’re all together.

Renjun worries about how they will get along. Sure, Yukhei met Jaemin before he left for his semester in the city, and he met Yangyang once at the bakery store. Renjun knows they went to school with Mark and Donghyuck, and that they hung out a few times during school events. But this is the first time they will all be in the same room – his past and his present, all mixed into one.

Renjun has to remind himself to breathe.

Yangyang runs the introductions for him, probably because it took Renjun so long to return. Yukhei’s wearing his friendliest smile as he waves at them, sitting on the ground with Mark and engaging in some weird handshake that Renjun doesn’t think is completely improvised.

An hour later, Renjun thinks that his worries were for naught. Yukhei is charming and friendly, and he doesn’t waste any time in befriending the others. Soon enough, it is as if they have been friends forever. 

Renjun’s stomach opens up for the first time since they arrived to Jaemin’s house and he eats everything Yukhei shovels onto his plate (which is a lot, because now Yukhei is on a mission to bulk him up, and he isn’t the type to relent once he sets his mind on something). 

“Is that sand?” Yukhei asks, pointing at Renjun’s ear.

“Probably. Donghyuck tried to kill me.”

“I didn’t try to kill you. You were being a buzzkill so I shoved your face into the sand.”

Renjun sticks his tongue out. Donghyuck reciprocates as Mark laughs at them, far too fond. 

After the food’s gone, Jaemin offers his numerous bathrooms for them to shower off the sand and the seawater. He even tells them they’re more than welcome to use his clothes if they want. Renjun brought his pyjamas, though he makes use of the nice body wash when it’s his turn.

All showered and dressed comfortably, they congregate in the living room to watch a movie. Renjun doesn’t fail to notice the ecstatic expressions on Jisung and Chenle’s faces, the way they sit giddily on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on their laps, and he suspects the sensation in his chest might be a heart attack.

Looking around the room, they’re all… they’re all happy. Jeno’s grinning widely as Jaemin recounts a story from his college, wide hand gestures resulting in him nearly hitting Donghyuck in the face. Yangyang’s on the floor with Mark, a blanket thrown haphazardly over their legs while Yangyang says something that makes Mark laugh with his whole body.

Renjun’s face hurts from how hard he’s grinning, but he doesn’t care much. 

Next to him, Yukhei knocks their shoulders together, leaning in to whisper— and yes, it is a surprise that Yukhei can whisper, given how loud and larger than life he is on a daily basis.

“You know,” Yukhei starts conversationally. “You have a very telling face.”

“What do you mean?” Renjun frowns.

His best friend wiggles his eyebrows in his direction, what seems like a million teeth on display as he smiles. “Well, you’re so… you’re not good at hiding how you feel. It’s written all over your face.”

“What is?”

Yukhei pats his knee, and Renjun thinks that the sight must have done something to him a long time ago. Or the touch, for that matter. It doesn’t now, not anymore, and a sigh of relief nearly escapes him.

“You found your people,” Yukhei finally says. “I mean, you and I have been friends forever, and I’ve had other friends, but you were always more reserved. I’m happy that you have them, even if it had to happen under such circumstances.”

Renjun ponders what he said for a moment. Yukhei’s right, he thinks — when he’s with them, he does feel as if he belongs with them. And as Yukhei said, the circumstances might have been awful (even if he doesn’t know the true extent of what happened), but that doesn’t make their friendship any less sweet.

He knows he would follow any of them to the end of the world. He’s already done the unthinkable for them, and they’ve done the same for him. 

“If you make me cry,” Renjun threatens weakly. 

Yukhei doesn’t reply, though he does squeeze Renjun’s knee before he takes his hand away. 

Renjun doesn’t have the slightest clue what the movie is about, and he doesn’t care. He spends most of the movie watching the others: Jisung’s eyes light up in delight at the special effects, Chenle laughs at every little joke, Donghyuck makes comments that have Jaemin threatening to smother him with a pillow. Yangyang falls asleep at some point, snoring on Mark’s shoulder, and Jeno drinks two cans of cola on his own.

The room’s dark save for the light that comes from the TV. Renjun’s tired, his muscles heavy from the beach, and Yukhei is like a furnace at his side. He falls asleep on the couch, and he sleeps through the night, no nightmares to interrupt his rest for the first time in months. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAHHHH IT'S DONE!! thank you to everyone and anyone that got this far, you're the best! and once again a gigantic shout-out and thank you to my beta, I love you !!
> 
> i cannot believe i managed 112k in three months but that's what happens when you're quarantined and unhinged i guess
> 
> update: November 30
> 
> now that reveals are out, here are my links!!  
> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/doitsushine92)
> 
> [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/doitsushine92)


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